


When You Awake: The Boy From The Band

by martykate



Category: The Band (Band 1968), The Band (The Band), The Band (The Last Waltz)
Genre: Adultery, Bass - Freeform, Bearsville, Bearsville Studio, Catskills, Drums, F/M, Fans, Forbidden Love, Gen, Groupies, Guitars, Los Angeles, Loyalty, Malibu, Mandolin, Music, Musicians, New York, Organ, Performance, Sex, The Band (music group), Venice (CA), Woodstock, Zuma Beach - Freeform, fiddle - Freeform, mildly smutty, performing, sexy musicians, shangri la, stage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2021-04-02
Packaged: 2021-04-11 15:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 60
Words: 109,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martykate/pseuds/martykate
Summary: A woman is attending the funeral of the lover--Rick Danko of the Band--she has been with for the past 25 years. She's not supposed to be there, his wife would be furious, but a friend from his band got her in, knowing she wanted, no needed, to be there.Dacy reflects on her past with him, meeting him when she was only 23. From the day she met him, he took her under his wing, looking out for her, being her lover as well as her friend. She chooses to navigate his alcoholism, his drug addiction and the pressure of being in a relationship with a man who, though he is married, loves her to distraction and won't give her up.
Relationships: Rick Danko/Elizabeth, Rick Danko/OC
Comments: 6
Kudos: 118





	1. A Funeral for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I have added two chapters--55 & 56 as I felt that I left too big of a time gap and the events were significant enough to write about them

"When you awake you will remember everything You will be hangin' on a string from your... When you believe, you will relieve the only soul That you were born with to grow old and never know..." Robbie Robertson, Richard Manuel

It's two p.m. in the Bearsville Theatre, December 15, 1999. There's a line snaked out in the parking lot, but I'm sitting in the back, doing my best to cry softly when what I want to do is totally break down. I'm not supposed to be here, Levon made arrangements so I could come to the funeral so I'm going to behave myself for him.

I see people that I know from the studio, Eric Clapton and George Harrison are here from England, Dylan's here, though it surprises me. I see my friend Bob Weir and he smiles at me and it helps to lift me up. "He wouldn't' want you to cry now," his eyes say so, "He'd just want you to remember all the good things."

Levon turns to look at me, and I nod. I'm strong enough to be here after all.

I can't believe Rick is dead. I caught up with him on his last tour and we spent the final days together before he had to go home. It was hard, watching him and worrying about him. He did not look good and the sex wasn't much but we were together and that was what counted.

We were together for almost twenty-five years—what am I going to do now? I'm forty-seven and that seems too old to start over again. Besides, how can I find someone who loved me the way he did? Who cares if I was the other woman, I was his other woman. We had our ups and our downs but we stuck it out. You don't have to be a wife to have a happy relationship.

Twenty-five years.


	2. Lonesome Suzie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy is 23 and has transferred from Seattle to Los Angeles for her job at Cal Tel. There she meets Gina, a girl her own age with an adventurous spirit. Gina talks her into going with her to a party at the new recording studio, Shangri-La, owned by the group, "The Band". They manage to get in (probably because they are young and attractive) and Dacy sees Rick Danko with a very fucked up beautiful blond on his arm. The Band stages an impromptu performance and Rick catches Dacy's eyes and winks at her. She feels flustered and relieved when he goes back to his blond. A week later she goes to the studio and sits outside listening to them rehearse. Rick comes out to have a smoke and spots her, and remembers her from the party. Thus begins an affair that will have its ups and downs but will only end when death parts them

He practically raised me. I was twenty-three when we met. I was sitting outside the studio's back door, just listening to them rehearse. He came outside for some reason and saw me.

"What are you doing there?" he asked. He wasn't unfriendly, just curious. He's always been the nicest guy.

"Listening to you guys rehearse--one of the engineers let me in. I love your music."

He smiled at that then asked how old I was. When I told him I was 23 he didn't believe me. I guess I look young and sometimes it's a pain in the ass. He told me I was lying, calling me a kid and jailbait. I showed him both my California and Washington driver's licenses before he would admit that they might not be fake.

He looked me up and down. I'm not pretty, I'm attractive, I'm cute, though I hate to be called that. I didn't look like the beautiful woman on his arm at the party where I first saw him. Sometimes I attract men I don't think I stand a chance with but I didn't think I'd stand a chance with him.

I was still pretty much the naïve girl my parents had raised. I'd experimented with drugs and men, but I was still pretty ignorant when it came to the ways of the world. I knew he had a live-in girlfriend so I wasn't sure he'd be interested in me until he invited me to come in and see the studio.

I'd attended a party there a week before. My friend Gina had heard about a new recording studio that had opened near Zuma Beach and that there was going to be a party to celebrate. Not celebrities only, opening night sort of party, but if you could make it down there you were welcome. Especially if you were female.

"Come on," she said, "Let's do it. We're cute, we won't have any trouble getting in."

"You're the cute one, I'll be lucky if they let me in."

"I wish you would give yourself more credit," she fumed, "You are so insecure and shy. You've attracted a cutie I had my eye on more than once. You have pretty eyes, a nice smile, and a cute figure. I'll dress you and do your hair and makeup. I guarantee that you are going to attract at least a few hotties, even if they aren't musicians."

I think he saw me, though I can't be sure. He had this gorgeous blond on his arm. She was pretty fucked up on something, alcohol, coke, or maybe both. She stood, swaying while the band performed an impromptu set.

To my surprise, I caught his eye while they were playing and he winked at me. When they finished playing he gave me a smile then went back to his blond. Since this was what I expected I wasn't too disappointed, well, maybe just a little.

I wonder if I'm going to be disappointed now.

"We're taking a break, do you want to come in and see the studio?" I nodded and took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. "Why don't you tell me your name, unless you want me to keep calling you Jailbait."

"My name is Dacy. I know it's a weird name, but the oldest kid always gets named Dacy in our family, don't ask me why. I think a great-great-grandfather started it or something."

"It's not such a weird name, it's kind of cute. Have you ever seen a recording studio before? Outside of the party, that is?" He gives me a quick tour, then takes me into a room with a long bar and pool tables. "So, what do you want to drink, kiddo?"

"If you have a decent scotch I'll take it on the rocks." Scotch was my latest drink of choice. I liked the bite and if you chose an expensive one it had a peaty taste and smell. "I like Glenlivet but I'll take anything you have as long as it tastes good."

"Why are you doing drinking scotch?" he asked, then held up a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. "Will this do? It's all we have."

"I like Johnny Walker Red. Black's better but I'm not picky. Well, not really picky," I said as he handed me my drink. He pulled a bottle of cognac off the rack and poured some for him. Maybe I should have asked for cognac.

We sat, sipping our drinks, saying nothing but smiling at each other. I could feel the energy passing between the two of us and wondered if he could feel it too. I'm sensitive psychically, I pick up on people's energy and sometimes their thoughts. I also can sense the presence of ghosts, and if there is something bad about a person I feel that too. Don't know where that comes from.

"I remember you," he spoke at last, "You were at the party. You were there with your blond friend. You guys left before the party really started to get going."

"We had to work the next day, that's why. We needed to go home and get some sleep, it'd been a long day."

"I was hoping you'd stay so I could talk to you. You're not beautiful but there's something about you, I think I'd like to know what that something might be. You left before I could find out."

He always knew what to say to me. He was looking at me with those dark brown eyes of his and I was getting a bad case of butterflies in my stomach. I was sure that if he touched me it would feel like a jolt of electricity.

"You're good," I wanted to tell him, "Is this how you pick up women? Does it always work?"

He reached over and took my hand with a touch that was surprisingly gentle. He stood up and drew me to my feet and we took our drinks and went outside to wander in the grassy dunes.

When he found the spot he wanted he took me in his arms and kissed me. Some men don't know how to kiss, to really kiss, but he did. I started to melt in his arms and when he removed my jacket and took off my shirt I didn't make the objections I probably should have.

Soon we were naked and holding each other and he pulled me down onto the ground next to him and started to make love to me. It seemed so peaceful and so right that I forgot to remember that this might get me hurt. I might be just another girl on his list, like the blond at the party, fucked and forgotten.

We finished and lay in each other's arms, breathing in unison. Above us was a sky filled with stars and we could hear the ocean splashing on the sands of Zuma Beach. I nestled close to him, inhaling his smell while he kissed me on the top of my head.

He broke the silence, saying, "I'd love to stay here, but I've got to go back inside and get to work. Give me your number and I'll call you sometime."

The last thing I wanted to hear, "I'll call you" means a guy wants to leave you with something because he has no intention of calling. I wasn't going to let it pass by. "Don't say you're going to call me unless you mean it. I'd rather have a nice, no a special, memory than be disappointed that I didn't hear from you when I was hoping I would."

"Whoa, lady, just a moment here. How do you know what I'm going to do or not do?"

"Well, you're a guy aren't you?"

"Who hurt you so bad that you're suspicious of someone you don't even know? Look you idiot, I do want to call you only things are going to be complicated."

"I know, you're a serious relationship. Everybody knows about your love life, the whole band's for that matter." I raised myself up on my elbows, "If I need to apologize, I will. And of course, I've been hurt and learned I have to be careful—when I remember. If you want my number, I would be happy to give it to you, but only if you really intend to call."

I reached into the hobo bag I carried in those days and pulled out the small pad and pen I kept for notes. Please, God, I thought, don't let me be sorry I did this. I wrote my first name and my number, then handed the paper to him.

He pulled his wallet out of his pants and folded it and put it in. "Don't worry," he said, "My girlfriend doesn't look through my wallet. Let's get dressed and I'll walk you to your car."

"I don't need you to do that. I've parked a ways away anyway."

"I'll walk you to your car," he repeated.

When we reached my car he took me in his arms and kissed me again, a deep soulful kiss.

"Do you have an answering machine?" he asked me and I nodded. "Good," he said, "If I can't reach you directly I can leave messages for you." I got into the car and closed the door. "Drive carefully," he said and kissed me again through the open window then said, "Sweet dreams."

Oh hell yes I'll have sweet dreams, I thought, I just wonder if he's sincere or one of those sincere-sounding liars.

The next day I sat at the console next to Gina. Being a long-distance operator can be busy as all hell, or, like today, slow.

She covered her mouthpiece, "What did you do last night, you've got circles under your eyes."

I picked up a piece of paper and wrote, "I fucked Rick Danko," not putting down his last name.

"You mean the Rick in the band 'The Band'?" she wrote and shoved the paper over to me.

"Yes," I wrote, "And he took my number but I don't think he'll call. Why would he want to call me anyway?"

She took a call, then I had one. We were back and forth with customers for about fifteen minutes before it slowed again.

"Why wouldn't he want to call you, idiot. You're not like the blond bimbo he was with at the party, you're a sweetheart. He's going to call!!"

"Liar," I muttered to myself. I just couldn't believe he'd be interested in me, not when there are beautiful blonds out there.


	3. Waiting on the Telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy's fallen--hopelessly she's sure--for Rick and waiting for him to call is agony. A week passes, no call, then another and she's sure she won't hear from him. She feels like she's made a fool of herself and he was only playing her. Gina comes over to apartment after they get off work to cheer her up. They're going to drink, smoke some weed and have a girl's night. 
> 
> And then, the phone rings...

When I came into work Gina gave me her "so what happened?" look. "Well?" she demanded, and I shook my head.

"No, nothing, not a peep. I told you, he's not going to call." It was true I had spent the day almost staring at the phone, jumping when it rang only to find out it was my mother and a tele-marketer. "He asked for my number just to be a jerk."

"You don't know that. Didn't you tell me he lives with his girlfriend? And for god's sake he's a musician, you know what that means. You attracted the cutest guy in his band and you're moping because he didn't call you right away?"

"Shut up." I wanted to tell her, but I shrugged my shoulders instead. I was having my doubts, I'd had my doubts from the start, but he'd gotten my hopes up and I hated feeling disappointed.

The days stretched into a week, then almost two weeks. When Gina would ask me if I'd heard from him I shook my head. Now I was on the verge of tears. "You should have known better," I told myself severely, "He's way above you," though I knew that wasn't entirely true.

Gina decided to cheer me up and come over after we got off work. We'd have a couple drinks and smoke a couple of joints. It sounded good and who could not love a best friend who'll see you through a rough time with a guy?

"This is what you need," she said as she poured me a generous portion of scotch. "Johnny Walker Black and some excellent Thai stick. If I get too fucked up to drive home I'll just crash on your couch."

It was one a.m. and we were halfway through our first joint when the phone rang. She looked at me, "Answer it, you fool, it's him, you know it is." She pushed me towards the phone.

I glared at her then answered it on the second ring. "Hello," I said uncertainly.

"Hi babe," a male voice said and there was no mistaking who it was, "How are you doing?"

I took a breath, "I'd almost," no I had, "given up on you, it's been two weeks."

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry. We've been so busy working on the new album. I haven't even been home much."

I wanted to say, "that's all right," but it wasn't. Instead, for maybe the first time in my life I said what I was really thinking, "Couldn't you just have called to let me know you were thinking about me?" Behind me, Gina was applauding.

"Okay, from now on I will—just remember I'll do it when I have the chance. Now, can I come over and see you."

"Well, you can, my friend Gina's over here—the cute blond, remember?"

She grabbed the phone from my hand, "Gina's going to be leaving, she'll stay here long enough to meet you, then she needs to leave."

I took the phone back. "Yes, please, do come over. I'd like that. I don't have to work tomorrow so I can sleep in if you stay late."

I gave him directions from how to get from Malibu to Venice. It's not hard really, I can find my way home even when I'm sorta fucked up.

Gina sat and held my hand while we waited. "What did I tell you? He called, didn't he? If you're going to get involved with a guy with a girlfriend, and he's a musician there'll be days like this. You may not ever marry him or have him to yourself, but I think he's here to stay."

It took almost a half-hour for him to get here. I paced around the apartment, muttering, "What if he doesn't come, what if he was just saying..."

"For god sake, sit down and stop pacing," Gina told me, "It's not like you're having sex with him for the first time." She went into my bedroom and returned with a lacy white blouse, "Here put this on, you always look angelic when you wear it. Now brush your teeth and powder your nose, by the time you finish, he'll be here."

I'd just finished primping when there was a knocking at the door. "Oh shit," I said, grimaced at Gina then went to the door and answered it.

He stood there grinning, a huge bouquet in his hands—pink carnations and yellow daisies. "Thank you," I breathed, "These are my favorite colors," and he took me in his arms and kissed me, then for good measure gave me a peck on the nose.

"That's for neglecting you when I didn't mean to," he kissed me again. Oh, you're good, I thought, for the flowers had been just the right touch.

"I'm Gina Virelli," she stood and held out her hand. Holding me with one he took his free hand and shook hers.

"Nice to meet you." He guided me over to the couch and sat down, me on one side and Gina on the other. He looked from Gina to me, "Hey, two pretty girls and I'm in the middle, I think I like this." He reached into his pocket, "Think you ladies would be up for a little coke?" He pulled a bag of white powder out of his pocket and I gaped at the size of it.

It's not I've never had it. It's at just about every party in California and it's unusual not to get invited to have some. It's just that the amount that he has scares me a little. I've never seen so much cocaine in my life.

Gina looks surprised too, and takes the initiative and answers, "Well, it's not that we haven't had it before, but we're pretty much lightweights. I'm up for some and I'm sure she's up for it too, but I bet there's no way we can keep up with you."

Good answer, Ginny, I thought.

Rick looks at me, saying, "Sweetheart do you have a mirror I can chop this on and lay out a few lines."

"Uh, sure," I answer, and go into the bathroom and bring out my hand mirror. I'm doing this even if I don't know if I should. I wonder for the first time how deeply he's into drugs, and if his girlfriend's into them too. For me, I don't want a habit and I don't want an addiction. No way will I follow him into one.

I hand the mirror to him and he sets it on the coffee table. He pours out an amount of coke and begins to chop it with a credit card, then divide it into lines for the three of us. Please don't give me too much, I think, and then I hear Gina say, "Hey, less than that, please." He takes the excess from what he was going to give to us and puts it in his share.

What have I gotten myself into?

He hands the mirror and a piece of a small plastic straw to me, and then to Gina. I'm a little surprised at how much he's taking. I put a smile on my face, though, and pretend that everything is okay, even though it's not.

He finishes and wipes his hand beneath his nose. "You ladies up for going out?"

Gina saves me, "It's been a long day, I think I'll go home and clean my house, then crash." We laugh at this, then Gina announces she really is going home and leaving "you lovebirds" alone.

"Alone at last," he says and pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. We begin to kiss and I find myself being lifted up and carried into my bedroom. He pulls off my clothes and dumps them on the floor, then adds his to the pile.

"Ever make love on coke?" he asks between kisses.

"I can't remember if I have or not," sounds kind of lame but it's true.

He smiles, oh how I love his smile, he has the loveliest lips. His mouth is too pretty for a man's. The first time I saw him I wondered what it would be like to have that mouth kiss me.

I love making love to him. We're both uninhibited, don't hold back. He gets playful, biting my breasts and my stomach then gets a little too rough with me. I don't mind, I wrap my legs tightly around him and move with him. And it seems to go on and on.

Around five he looks at my clock and says, "I've got to get home. Can I take a shower."

I sigh, I don't want him to leave but I hurt in every muscle in my body. "I've got some unscented soap under the sink, you better use that. I keep it around for the days when my sinuses are bad."

He kisses me again and I watch his lean body walk into my bathroom. He's six feet tall and he's too thin for his height but he's got a cute ass and looks good. I'd get up and help but I'm worn out and I don't know if he wants me with him anyway.

I hear the water run, then stop. He's using my hairdryer so I bet he's going home to his girlfriend. He emerges from the bathroom looking a hell of a lot better than I must and sits next to me on the bed.

He lays a hand on my cheek stroking it with his thumb. "You should come by the studio sometime after you get off work. Just check to see if my car's there."

"I'll see, sometimes after work I'm tired but sometimes the last thing I feel like doing is sleeping. I like the studio, especially the beach. Too bad I can't sunbathe in the middle of the night."

He laughed, held me close and kissed me. "If I don't see you at the studio, you'll be hearing from me." Then I heard the door open and close, and he was gone.

What was I doing? On the one hand, one of the best looking and nicest guys I've ever might be falling in love with me. On the other hand, he carried around a large bag of coke and helped himself liberally to it. I remember that I saw him consume a large quantity of alcohol at the party, more than he should have.

I wasn't going to judge him, but I was worried. I'm so smitten by this guy. He's the best sex I've ever had. He's funny, he makes me laugh. I love the way it feels when his arms are around me. There is something happening between us, I can feel it and I don't want to walk away from him.


	4. An Unexpected, Unwanted Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy realizes she is truly falling in love with Rick, but when she finds that he has left her some coke, she wonders what she might be getting herself into. Becoming an addict or heavy user is not on her agenda

I was tired and ached all over, but I could not sleep thanks to the coke. I threw the off the covers and went into my bathroom. I filled the bathtub with water as hot as I could stand, adding some lavender oil for good measure.

I lowered myself slowly into the steaming tub, the waters stinging as they hit my lady parts. Rick had enjoyed me a little too much but I had no complaint. I rested my head on the edge of the old cast iron tub submerged myself into the water, feeling better the longer I soaked.

When the water began to cool, I pulled the plug and let the tub drain. I dried myself off and rubbed lavender lotion all over my aching body, well, now not so aching body. I wrapped myself in my fluffy terrycloth robe and went to the kitchen to get a glass of ice water.

Sitting on the counter was an inverted bowl, I had not left it there. I picked it up and underneath was a small quantity of white powder on a saucer. I tucked it away in the back of the cupboard. I am sure this was meant to be nice, but after last night I had enough cocaine to last me for a while.

I was glad I had the day off, I knew I was going to crash at any minute, there was no way I would have been able to stay awake at work. I'd fallen asleep once, much to my embarrassment, and had to explain to my supervisor I hadn't been able to sleep the night before.

I lay down and slept for a couple of hours, then went out for breakfast. I wasn't hungry but wanted to put food in my system. The food and coffee kept me awake for a while but by nine o'clock I could barely keep my eyes open. Just as I was about to hit the pillow the phone rang.

"Let it be Gina," I prayed, "Please don't let it be Rick," and picked up the phone.

"Gotta minute?" I recognized his voice, "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, just really tired, you wore me out, you know."

I heard him chuckle, "Well, I'm a little sore myself. Did you find my present?"

Oh yeah, I found it, I would have preferred more flowers, or maybe even jewelry.

How to answer this, "Mmm, well, yes. You sorta surprised me with that. Coke is something I don't do very often. It kind of scares me, you know. I smoke marijuana, but if coke comes my way, which it hasn't in a long time, I might give in to temptation. When it comes to alcohol I'm pretty much a lightweight, too."

"Well, just put it away and we can have it the next time I come over. Are you going to be up for a while?"

No, I'm not, not even for you, but did you say "the next time"? That I like the sound of.

"I'm going to bed and sleep until it's time to get up and get ready for work. "

He laughed when I said this, and I laughed with him.

"Well, sweet dreams, have at least one of me. I dreamt about you last night, it's a good thing I don't talk in my sleep. And, oh, I called."

"Yes, you did. Good night," I said and hung up the phone.

I like to come into work about half an hour early to sit and sip on a mocha and talk to Gina or whoever is handy. I am one of those people who eases into their day as opposed to rushing into it.

"G" was at the corner table where we usually sat. She looked up from the newspaper she was reading and asked, "Well, how did it go?"

I slumped into a chair and sighed. "I have never met anyone so wonderful, who makes me feel like I'm special but who scares me to death. This may sound strange, maybe, but it's what he left for me that I didn't discover until morning."

Gina covered one nostril and sniffed softly. "Is that what you're talking about?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he did it to be nice, but it makes me kind of nervous having it. I try to stay away from it, unless I think I deserve a treat and someone puts some under my nose." I leaned forward so that I could make sure no one heard what I was saying. "You saw how much he did the other night, what if he..."

"Has a drug or alcohol habit or both?" she finished for me, "Well, he's a musician and there's a lot of substance abuse in the business. It's not like you didn't know about that."

"Nooo, you're right about that, if I didn't know that before I would have found it out at the party. I just didn't expect to have it so close to me. I mean, all you and I do is drink a little and smoke a little pot, that's our way of partying. Now I'm around someone who's into it heavy and I don't know what to think. I'm sure his leaving me the coke was his way of being nice and I'm making too big a deal of it like I'm some virgin who's never touched anything before."

"G" took my hand and asked, "How do you feel about him? I mean really, how do you feel about him, the drugs, the girlfriend, the whole thing? Is it worth it?"

"I've never been so smitten with anyone in my whole life. I'm in this deep enough that I don't feel like I want to pull out of it. I was so stupid not to remember that I'm dealing with someone who doesn't give this stuff a second thought."

"You just be careful," she said to me, "Don't let him pull you into the lifestyle, that will not do you any good. Don't drink or do drugs just because he's doing it, don't let him pressure you into it. Remember what happened to Renee?"

Renee was a friend of ours from school. She fell head over heels for someone with a heroin habit and began using just because he was. She wound up with a bad habit that cost her everything, including her daughter. The last I heard she was finally getting her life back together and the boyfriend was out of her life for good. She lost years with her daughter because of heroin.

No, I did not want to end up like Renee.

Having a good life means too much to me. I may have fallen in love with the wrong man, but I don't have to go down the road that he is. Maybe I can talk some sense into him, or at least hope he has enough respect for me to not want that to happen to me.

I'm so crazy for him, crazy to the moon and back. All the warning signals are telling me to stay away from him but how can I? "Love thinks not with the eyes but with the mind and therefore is winged cupid painted blind.

Gina let go of my hand and patted it. "Look, I think he likes you but we don't really know what he wants from you. This whole thing might be over as soon as it started—right? But, if he does stick around, be careful. Don't be afraid to talk to me if you get scared, remember I'm ways here for you. I'm happy for you, but I just want you to be careful. It's not just drugs you're dealing with here, there's another woman in the picture. You're going to have to tread carefully."

I was rested, I was in a good mood, but it was hard to keep my mind on my job. I kept dialing wrong numbers, connecting people to the police department when they wanted the fire department. All I could think about was his hands with their long fingers that touched me everywhere. The beautiful feminine mouth that kissed me so thoroughly that it left me breathless. His dark eyes, his dark mop of hair and the way he kept urging me on and on when I thought I could not take anymore.

"Damn it girl," I told myself, "You've fallen in love and now you don't know what to do about it. You're a fool but you really can't help it. Men like him don't come along that often."


	5. Zuma Beach

Zuma Beach

I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. The little hand, the one that counted read "ten". So it's ten o'clock, too late for breakfast, but not too late to take a shower and pack a lunch and drive to Zuma Beach to bake in the sun before work.

There are nice beaches in Venice, especially fun is watching the bodybuilders work out at Muscle Beach, but I want to go to Malibu. I ought to get in touch with my surfing instructor for another lesson, but I don't feel like covering myself with a wetsuit. I want to feel the sun on my skin.

I take a quick shower and tie my hair in a ponytail. I pack a lunch and a thermos of lemonade and a couple of bottles of cold water. Then I shove everything, plus an old quilt, into the trunk of my Mustang and head to the beach to kill some time before I come home and get ready for work.

Zuma Beach is the biggest and most popular on the coast. Nice wide beach, surfing if you like, and just an all-around pleasant place to kill time. I'm still learning to surf. I've done a little here but mostly I come here to be alone and avoid the people I have to be nice to. I've got too much on my mind. Rick and my relationship with him are dominating my thoughts. I can't really believe that I'm with him and I am deliriously happy. I want this relationship to happen very much.

I'm sitting in the half chair I have so I can read and sunbathe at the same time. I am enjoying being alone with my thoughts when I looked up to see a stranger standing next to my blanket.

"Hey, didn't I see you at the party at Shangri-La a couple of weeks ago?"

I take off my sunglasses to get a better look at him, then replace them. He's blond, not bad looking, kind of borderline attractive that saves his looks. I honestly don't remember him, there were a lot of people at the party, but he claims to remember me. Did I talk to him? I don't think so, I only had enough alcohol to give me a little buzz since I'm not a fan of getting drunk.

My mother's voice is speaking to me in my head. "Here's a perfectly acceptable young man, he's interested in you. He's not married or cohabiting. You'd be better off with him than..."

I switch the "mom button" off before it can go any further. Any of these guys might have girlfriends and there's no guarantee he doesn't have a coke habit.

I want to get rid of him without being rude so I ask him, "I'm really sorry, but I don't recall seeing you. Are you a musician?"

He laughs, a nice laugh if I was interested, "No, I'm just an engineer. I hope to be a producer someday." He sticks out his hand and says, "Billy Wilkins and you're?"

I hold out my hand and say, "Dacy." I don't want him looking up my number. I get my phone service free but part of the bargain is you don't get an unlisted number. That's okay, I really don't have to hide from anyone.

I've only had an hour at the beach but Mr. Billy the engineer shows no sign of leaving, which means I have to. I'm not interested in talking and I hope his story about working at the studio is a lie. Rick's suggested that I come down to the studio sometime and it would be awkward if Billy Wilkins showed up.

I start to gather my stuff up.

"Do you have to leave?"

"Yes," I reply as sweetly as I can. "I've got to go home and take a shower before I go to work."

"Oh, do you work evenings?"

I nod and finish packing up. I don't want to talk to him but mutter something as I grab my keys and start to head towards the parking lot.

"Hey, can I help?" he asks but I wave him away. He wants my number, he wants to ask me out but no way. I make as graceful a retreat to my car as I can.

If Billy Wilkins really works at the studio that is not a good thing. I don't know how Rick plans to deal with people finding out about us, especially someone who's tried to hit on me. I know if I do see Rick and I run into Billy Wilkins it is going to be awkward.

I drove home faster than I should have, but my old Mustang likes to drive fast, especially if I'm upset. I threw my uneaten lunch in the refrigerator and strip off my bikini and take a shower. When I step out I notice that my skin looks a little browner so I didn't feel so bad about missing my tanning time.

Gina is a late riser but I call her anyway and reached her answering machine—which I expected. I told her I had a craving for margaritas and enchiladas from Senor Sombrero's and could she please call me back because I needed to talk?

Fortunately, this was one of those days when she was awake before three in the afternoon. Senor's sounded great as long as we didn't have too many margaritas before work. And what did I need to talk about anyway?

"I'll tell you at lunch," I told her, "It's one of those conversations you want to have face to face, not over the phone—okay?"

"All right, sweetie, I'll see you at Senor Hat's at two. I'm dying to find out if you've heard from your musician yet."

"Bye," I said, tempted to slam down the phone. He wasn't mine, he wouldn't ever be, I'd be lucky just to have him whenever and wherever I could.

I put on a pale yellow t-shirt and jeans—the air conditioning at work tends to work a little too well. I raise the convertible top on my Mustang because the air will be cool on the drive home tonight.

Gina is waiting for me at the restaurant. It's small and friendly and Irad, the owner, always greets his customers and never forgets a face. He's also a little too friendly but not overly so. He puts his hand on the back of my waist and guides me to the table where Gina is sipping a margarita. He promises to bring me one and hands me a menu.

"What's the big emergency?" asks Gina,

"I was at the beach today and this guy tries to hit on me."

"And what's so unusual about that?"

"He says he remembers me from the party—and I don't remember him. We didn't get fucked up so I think I'd remember talking to him."

"Did he say that he talked to you?" Gina looks at me as she takes another sip.

"No, but he says he's an engineer at the studio, which means he's going to see Rick and me together."

"Oh, Rick wants you to come and see him when he's supposed to be working? That's kind of sweet, he wants to show you off."

I choose to ignore that. "And then Mr. Billy Wilkins is going to see me with him. It makes me kind of uncomfortable."

"Ah, that will be a bit awkward but I'm sure once he sees you with Rick he'll leave you alone. You couldn't very well say something about it but it will be all right. Now, drink your margarita and let's have lunch. We have another fun night at Cal Tel to look forward to."

I'd been home from work for about two hours when I heard the knock at my door. I checked the peephole to see who it was but someone had their hand over it. I opened the door and Rick stood there grinning, a bottle of something in a bag in one hand and his free arm soon around me. He locked the door behind him then set the bottle down.

He put his arms around my waist and lifted me up. "How's my favorite girl?" he asked before he started kissing me. He carried me to the bedroom and laid me on the bed.

I opened my mouth to try to tell him about my encounter on the beach but he put a finger on my lips. "Only sighs and moans are allowed from you tonight," and he stripped off my jeans and t-shirt. He pushed my hands away when I tried to help him with his. "Nope, I'm in charge. We're going to play a little game called 'Do whatever Rick wants.'"

I laughed, I couldn't help myself but soon my laughter turns to the sighs and moans required. How in the world did he get so good at sex? Between his mouth on my nipples, his hands on my belly and thighs then into the more intimate places I turn to jelly. He played me as skillfully as he played his bass. I thought I'd never experience an orgasm no matter how many guys I'd been with but he plucked them from me effortlessly. If I fell in love with him, really fell in love, this is where it would start.

When we finished we both were tired. He kissed me and got up then came back into the room carrying a bottle of cognac and two glasses.

"You've earned this," he said and poured me the first glass. It went down with that smoothness that only a good brand like Hennessey or Courvoisier has.

It's been on my mind, fortunately not during our lovemaking, but I have to ask him about Billy Wilkis.

"Can I ask you something?" I say hesitantly.

"Sure, you can ask me anything that you like and if I can I'll answer.

I snuggle next to him. "Is there an engineer at the studio named Billy Wilkins?"

"Yes, he's worked with us for a while. Why?"

"Well, I was sunbathing at Zuma Beach today and he tried to hit on me. He said he'd seen me at the party."

"You didn't mention you were with me, did you?"

"No, of course not, why would you even ask me that?"

"I'm sorry," he put his arm around me and pulled me closer. "I'm sorry I said that to you. He's bound to see you at the studio sometime and it's going to be pretty obvious who you're with."

"I got a little freaked. He was pretty surprised when I wasn't interested."

"Don't worry about him or anyone who works there. You already know we're in kind of an awkward position. I'll look out for you, I promise."

I hope so, I thought. I don't want to get caught between you and your girlfriend. I'll only wind up the loser.


	6. Out of Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy realizes how far she's fallen for Rick, she only wishes he feels the same way. One night she comes to the studio, at his request, so he can "introduce her" to the band.
> 
> Then two weeks have gone by and she hasn't heard from him and doesn't know what to think,

When I wake for the last time it's almost noon. He left while I was asleep so I didn't get to tell him goodbye. I have the feeling this will not be for the last time. I'd like it if he'd wake me up when he leaves. Maybe I'll say something if I think it will do any good.

This is my punishment for being with a married (or as good as married) man. I wonder again what I'm doing but I've fallen so hard for him reason is being left behind.

He seemed to enjoy his little lovemaking "game" last night. I hope isn't an indication he's controlling. If he is he's going to find I'm not going to be very cooperative. I hope. He's nine years older than me and that gives him a certain a of aura of authority but he is not in control of my life--I am.

Gina tells me I'm glowing. I feel like I'm carrying around this wonderful secret that no one else knows (except her). So far it's been good—except for never knowing when I'm going to see him, never getting to wake up with him in the morning, not getting to do little things like cook dinner for him. You know, all the stuff you take for granted in an ordinary relationship.

Or having his kid. I'm only twenty-three and motherhood is not on my agenda. I like my life, I like only being responsible for me. I had a scare last year and almost died. Since then I don't seem to need birth control—I haven't slept with a lot of men but I don't seem to get pregnant.

The message light was blinking on my answering machine when I got home from work. I push the button and heard him say, "Come to the studio as soon as you get off work, or as soon as you get this. I'll keep a lookout for you. Come soon, baby."

Oh god. I rush into the bathroom and brush my teeth, then splash cold water on my face. I brush my hair, wishing I had time to do something with it, but it can't be helped.

I throw on my denim jacket then jump in my car. Fortunately, although it's not close, the studio isn't all that far away. That's not what's worrying me, what if the guys in his band don't like me? What if they see me as an intruder? These are men who are not exactly faithful to their wives but I don't know the protocol for girlfriends.

Nervous as I am, I am enjoying the drive. I love scenic drives and the highway along the coast has an eerie beauty in the dark. The water looks dark grey with light grey foam where the waves break. Malibu is beautiful, even at night.

I don't turn on the radio on because it might give me a case of the jitters which is the last thing I need.

I park close this time, no one is going to mind that my car is parked alongside theirs. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it wants to jump out of my chest and there's no way I can slow it down. "Breathe," I tell myself, "breathe."

"Thought you'd never get here," a familiar voice comes out of the darkness and he takes me in his arms.

I hold him tightly, "You know what time I get off work and how long it takes to get here. Unlike you, I don't drive like a maniac so it takes me longer. I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore to work. I just now realized I forgot to fill the cat bowls, there'll be hell to pay when I get home."

"Come in and meet the guys," he says. He must see the look of apprehension on my face, "Hey," he says, "Don't worry, they're going to love you. We may not be the nicest bunch of guys you'll ever meet but we're friendly. They're waiting to meet you, don't be shy."

Shy is what I was, but I smiled and shook the hand of each member I was introduced to. I wonder if Rick had been singing my praises and if that was a good thing. They were friendly, though, and nice. Rick was apologetic and said they had to get back to work but made sure I was comfortable and settled in an easy chair. They ignored my presence, which is exactly what I wanted.

They play, breaking off at times to discuss the finer points of a song and should it be done a different way? Sometimes they argued but never fought, and I got to listen to my private concert. I wish I had a hidden tape recorder because what I was hearing was nothing like you'd hear in a concert or on an album.

I was tired and sometimes I drifted off, but always woke to hear them playing something. Maybe I didn't hear a song being played all the way through, but I had the privilege to witness the actual construction of a song. That's a treat few people will ever get to experience.

It was about three-thirty when Rick came and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, we're taking a little break," and he led me through the halls until we came to a bedroom. "This is mine, make yourself comfortable," which I soon understand to mean, "Take off your clothes."

Our lovemaking was rushed, the band was waiting to continue the rehearsal. So we reluctantly got dressed and he walked me out to my car.

"You don't need to do this," I told him, hadn't I said this before?

He only smiled. "Yes, I do. I want to make sure you're safe."

"I didn't get to say goodbye to your band, it seems kind of rude."

"I thought I'd save you a little embarrassment and teasing. They'll give you a hard time, but it's all in fun. Typical guy stuff, you understand. If they don't tease you it means they don't like you. In the meantime, drive carefully." He kissed me and helped me into the car.

I watched him in my rearview mirror as I drove off. He watched for a little while, then turned around and went back into the building.

I was on a high. I felt sexy, attractive, and even if I wasn't loved I felt that way. I woke every morning and when I looked at my face in the mirror I saw a reflection of the woman he saw in me. It was an unbelievable high.

There was something about our relationship that felt like it was meant to be. It was kismet, it was fate. If I'd wondered why I'd never been in a long term relationship I understood that it was because I'd been waiting for him.

Or so I told myself.

A week went by and I didn't hear from him. No matter, I told myself, it's usually a week before I hear from him anyway. Then another week and still no word, that hadn't happened since we first started seeing each other. And in spite of myself I started to wonder if anything was going on.

Nothing is wrong, I told myself although inside I felt panicky. Maybe introducing me to the band had been a ruse, he'd been planning to leave me. Maybe the guys didn't like me so he decided to get rid of me. Maybe his girlfriend suspects something and he's either going to break us up or lay low for a while.

All sorts of scenarios were playing themselves out in my head. All I knew was that I should have heard from him and I was afraid he didn't want me anymore.

I had taken a shower and was getting ready for work. I heard someone knocking at my door and I wrapped a bath sheet around me and went to see who it was.

I looked through the peephole and there here was. He knocked again, saying, "Let me in baby, please."

I undid the chain and unlocked the door. I cracked it a few inches and asked him, "It's been two weeks, why haven't you called?"

"Let me in, please, and I'll tell you all about it, okay?"

I couldn't resist him, I never could. I opened the door and let him in, apprehensive and not trusting. I didn't know what he wanted until he pulled the towel off me and threw me over his shoulder.

"No," I said, "You can't do this. You haven't called or talked to me for two whole weeks. You can't expect me to..."

He swatted me on my bare bottom. "Stop talking, we'll talk afterward and I'll tell you what's going on. I feel bad about not calling, but there's a reason."

When we finished, he lit his "after sex" cigarette. He looked around on my nightstand for something to use as an ashtray, and since I'm a non-smoker nothing was there.

"Would you get me a saucer or something I can use for an ashtray?" He gave me one of his charming smiles, but it didn't work.

"You're the one smoking in my apartment, you want an ashtray, you get it, or better still, why don't you just not smoke when you're here? You smoke too much anyway."

His look said it all, he definitely would smoke if he wanted to. The not smoking idea would not fly. He got up and I watched his slim body with the nice ass as he made his way to the kitchen and back to the bedroom. He settled back on the pillow and gave me a cryptic look.

"How hard is it for you to get days off? I mean, if you needed a specific day or two off how hard would it be to get it and could you get three? "

"Two days? I can schedule two in a row. I'll ask Dorothy and if she gets stubborn I'll bribe her with one of my carrot cakes. Three days is not impossible, but more complicated. What is this about, anyway? And you told me you'd tell me why I haven't heard from you."

He stubbed his cigarette out. "Look, the reason I haven't called is that we're going on tour and we're doing a lot of rehearsing. I haven't even been home much to see my girlfriend and my kid. I should have called, I'm sorry, things get hectic when we prepare for tours."

"A kid, huh?"

"Yeah, a daughter. Do you mind?" He seemed suddenly unsure of himself.

"Why should I mind? I'm somebody's daughter. No, I don't mind."

I was a little caught off guard by this, but then again, it was something new I'd learned about him. I hope he was a good dad.

"You had me kind of scared, I didn't know what to think. I mean you always call, especially when you know you're not going to have a chance to see me."

He took my hand, "Okay, I get it, I do. Look, we'll have a weekend for our wives and our kids but I can't have you come then. I'll talk to our tour manager and see what I can set up. We're going to be on the road for three months and that will be a long time to not see you. I'll work something out, I'll get you your tickets and you can fly out to meet me."

"Three months seems like a long time."

He sighed, "We've done it for longer and I won't pretend that it's easy. It's hard on the families, it's hard on us. And once we get home, we'll start working on the new record."

"I thought touring was the time when the boys get to be bad and get away with it."

"Oh, there's a little of that, well, maybe more than a little," he grinned sheepishly, "But not as much as you think."

He started to pull on his clothes. "Do you have to work?" I nodded, "At six?" I nodded again.

"You'll have to give me at least two weeks, preferably three to ask for specific days off. When do you leave?" I asked him.

"Two weeks. I don't I'll be able to see you again until you meet me, whenever that is. The tour manager will get in touch with you, he's nice so don't worry. And by the way, the guys did like you. Levin thinks you're cute and offered to take you off my hands."

I was tearing up a little so he took my hands, "I know this is hard, but this is what you signed up for. I promise I'll make this worth your while. We've got the odds stacked against us, but it doesn't mean we can't do it. Come on now, give me a smile and a kiss."

I threw my arms around him, wanting to ask, "Do you love me? Are you doing this because you love me?" But I didn't, I gave him his smile and his kiss and watched him walk out the door, wondering what in the world made me think I could do this?


	7. And After that, I Love You

And after that, I don't hear from him. I check my answering machine when I come home from work, hoping to see the message light flashing. Nothing. No calls from his tour manager and no calls from him.

Well, he did warn me, didn't he? They're in the last two weeks of rehearsals before they go on tour so of course, they're busy, right? I tell myself this every night when there's no message from him. Some nights lying to myself doesn't work and I cry myself to sleep.

I have to keep up appearances at work and act like things are fine. What I want to do is stay home and wallow in misery, but I have to go to work and be bright and cheerful for the customers. Work is providing a panacea, fortunately, we're busy enough that I don't have time to sulk.

I hate his girlfriend because she can have him and I can't. At night he goes home to her, sleeps in the same bed, and makes love to her while I come home to a bed that feels as empty as my heart. I don't know what she looks like, but I don't want to. If she's beautiful I'll start comparing myself to her and come up lacking.

I realize I can't be sure he won't take his pleasures where he finds them. If he's cheating on her with me I'm sure he's doing the same thing to me. I turn my "mom button" off because I don't want to think about this.

"Stop moping," Gina tells me one night, "You're going around with this sad face—don't. He's either going to keep his promise or he won't. So far he's been really sweet to you so he must like you. Just think, he's cheating on his wife with you and doesn't seem inclined to stop. Listen to Mama Gina, you have to learn to cultivate patience if you're going to be with him. If he's making you this unhappy, let go of him. I don't think he'd like the way you're acting these days, so snap out of it."

"Okay, okay," I say, "But how would you feel..." I don't finish because she makes it plain that she's going to ignore me. I understand I do, but I've put myself in an awkward situation that brings out my insecurities. She's right, I've either got to learn to live with this or let go.

On the drive home I tell myself I'm going to be a big girl. If he calls he calls and if he doesn't, well, why would I want someone who doesn't want me? That makes no sense, right? It's not like he's the only cute guy in the world, but he happens to be the cute guy I fell in love with.

I get home and the message light is blinking. Oh god, the message light is blinking. I take a deep breath and push the "play" button, hoping that it's him, or at least his tour manager.

"Where the hell are you?" says a familiar voice and I can feel myself grin from ear to ear, "I had to sneak away and pretend that I had to take a leak so I could and call you. Tom, our tour manager, is making reservations for you to fly to Dallas the weekend after Labor Day. Get three days off, can you do that? You'll fly down on Saturday and return on Monday. And if you can't get the damn days off, call in sick!"

There's a pause and I wonder if the message has ended. Then I hear him say, "I miss you. I wish we could have gotten together before I left but I've been too fucking busy. I love you kid, I'll see you in September."

The machine beeped, indicating the message had ended. I save it and play it two more times.

He loves me, he's never said that before, but he said, "I love you," it's there on the tape. I wonder if it's something he said casually, or did he say it because he's been drinking? I don't know. All I do know is that I've wanted to hear those words and couldn't be the one who said it first.

"I love you." I've waited so long to hear that, wondering if it would ever happen. I wonder if he does love me, or if he just said it out of guilt.

I should call Gina, but I want to hold onto this and treasure it. I feel like I've been given something precious and rare. I'll tell her tomorrow before work and watch her reaction.

"Yes! Yes!" Gina is almost jumping up and down, "What did I tell you? Now we have to figure out what you'll wear."

"I won't be seeing him until September, remember? I've got plenty of time to go shopping."

"You don't need to go shopping, I'll be your closet. I already know what you'll take. If you need something warm, my burgundy dress will be perfect—you look better in it than I do anyway. Then my pink and light blue dresses will go perfect with your gold sandals. Oh, and jeans and tops along with your new jean jacket. You'll be a knockout."

"Hey, I've got clothes too!"

"But you're taking mine," she looked at me with narrowed eyes, "You wouldn't deprive me of enjoying this vicariously, would you?"

"No," I sighed, "It's time to plug in, let's go. Come over after work and I'll let you hear his message." I hadn't told her that he told me he loved me.

"Okay, but tomorrow you come over after work and we get your clothes picked out. When he sees you he won't want to wait to take them off." She picked up a lock of my brown hair, "Maybe we should color your hair red, you'd make a great redhead." 

"Not until I ask him what he thinks. How do I know if he even likes redheads?"

I'm sitting in the VIP lounge at LAX sipping on a scotch for my nerves. I'm not going to have more than two—one for here and one for when I board the plane, I'm not going to show up drunk. I'm getting out of here as soon as I finish my drink, I don't belong here, this is for the "beautiful people."

Mr. Tour Manager Tom was a very nice guy. After giving me the dates to ask for off, he told me he'd messenger the tickets to me, and would I please make sure I was home that morning so they'd be sure to reach me. Rick had also asked that he arrange for transportation to the airport.

"That's not necessary," I objected, "My friend Gina will drive me, I'm going to need moral support for this."

He laughed and told me if it was that important she could come along, and please be ready when the limo arrived to pick me up.

"I don't need a limo," I said weakly but I had a feeling that Rick had arranged all this. Maybe he thought I'd be excited at the prospect of riding in a limo and flying first class. Economy would have been fine, and Gina could have driven me just as easily. I have a feeling this is intended to make up for the time we're spending apart and I can hear Gina saying, "For crying out loud, don't be difficult. Just say thank you."

I finish my drink and leave to head to the main gate where the other passengers are waiting to board. I'm being looked at, which pleases me. Gina has done her best. She dressed me in her black and white polka dot dress and black wedge sandals. My long brown hair has been tamed into loose curls and she's worked a miracle with my makeup. I'm feeling pretty and I'm enjoying the thought of him seeing me like this.

First-class boards before the rest of the passengers and soon I am sitting in a comfortable seat next to the window. The stewardess tells us they'll begin serving drinks as soon as we are airborne and I can't wait to drink my second scotch—which I'd love to make a double but don't dare.

A bearded man in a blue-grey suit sits in the seat next to mine. He's got longish hair and he's big, like a football player who has let himself go since he's retired. He introduces himself to me in a thick southern accident and shakes my hand gently but firmly with his big bear paw.

At last, we are airborne and I get to order my scotch. He gets a double bourbon that with his size must barely affect him, then starts asking me questions about who I am and where I'm going.

He's friendly and I like him I just make sure that I am careful what I tell him. When I say I'm going to meet up with my boyfriend in Dallas he looks at me and says I'll be a sight for sore eyes. It's a compliment, meant to be nice and I lower my head as I feel my cheeks warming.

Maybe he senses I'm nervous because he keeps a friendly banter going all through the flight for which I'm grateful. He's a music promoter in Nashville and though I'm not very knowledgeable about country music I do recognize a few of the names. I guess he's a sort of Bill Graham in the country music business.

He hands me a card, saying in his thick southern accent, "Now if that boyfriend of yours don't show, you just give me a ring and I'll see you're taken care of!" He's flirting and I smile as I tuck his card in my wallet."

"Oh, he's gone to too much trouble and expense to stand me up." I give him my brightest smile, "If I thought he'd do that I wouldn't be here right now."

At last, the plane begins its descent. I close my eyes, not because I'm afraid of flying, but because I'm scared. I haven't seen him in two months. I wonder if he's going to meet me when I debark or if he's sent someone for me.

How is he going to react to me? Will he feel the same or after not seeing me for so long will he look at me and change his mind? Maybe I shouldn't have done this, maybe this is a big mistake. This is something out of my experience though I bet he has done this before. No sense asking either, because I don't know him well enough to know if he'd tell me the truth.

If I were a Catholic I'd be saying the rosary. As it is I'm thinking, "Please god, let it be okay. Please, please let it be okay.

The big tires skid down onto the runway and the plane bounces gently. It begins to taxi slowly towards the terminal and I can hear people in the main cabin standing up and grabbing their carry-ons.

The big jet makes its way to the terminal and I can hear the sounds of it being hooked up to the entrance. I'm ready to cry but I don't want to show it.

At last, we're here and the first-class passengers begin to exit. The big man puts his hand on the middle of my back, a gesture which I'd normally find too familiar but it's comforting. I'm so scared and my heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest.

People are milling around, waiting for loved ones. "There," the man says to me and points. I see Rick smiling almost as big as I am now and we run to each other, rudely pushing people aside. He lifts me by the waist and I wrap my legs around him, barely able to contain myself. In front of all these people and with a reckless lack of caution we begin to kiss.

He puts me down, "Give your baggage check ticket to Ben there, and he'll go get your luggage."

It's the first time I realize he's brought people with him. I hand him my claim ticket and say, "I hope he won't feel embarrassed carrying a pink suitcase. Gina insisted that I take it."

He laughs and I notice for the first time how thin he's gotten, there is not enough meat on his bones. There are deep shadows under his eyes and he is looking unhealthy and it upsets me. What is it? Too much coke? Speed? Heroin? What is it with musicians that too much of anything is never enough?

I'm in his arms, for now, that's all I'm going to think about. I hope we can go back to the hotel and make love, but I'll be patient.

He sends his entourage on ahead and we have a limo to ourselves. Thank god he doesn't want to fuck me here but his fingers are wandering places they probably shouldn't. "Wait until I get you back to the hotel," he whispers in my ear and I can barely wait myself.


	8. The Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy joins Rick on the Band's tour

Rick looked nervously out the window as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He breathed a sigh of relief then turned and said, "Not too many people out there, and only a couple of photographers, probably trying to get any shot they can."

I stare out and see the girls. Well, what did I expect? He's probably fucked his share of groupies.

"And the groupies are out, too," I try to say it as casually as I can.

"Just wait until the concert, then you'll see the top ones. They follow the bands, they usually don't care which ones. Or they might follow a specific group. Okay, let's get out of here."

The driver came and opened the door and someone from his entourage took my suitcase. Rick carefully laid his hand on my face and pressed my head against his chest to shield me. I heard shutters clicking but there was nothing to be done about it. I wasn't any happier about it than he was.

Things were a little more relaxed in the lobby. We went straight to the elevator and rode it to the ninth floor. Our room was halfway down but when we got there someone said, "Hey Rick", and a shutter clicked twice as he turned his head, distracted.

Rick's assistant set my case down and I picked it up. Rick pushed me into the room before I had a chance to see what was happening—and whatever it was I was grateful that I didn't see it.

He turned on a light by the bed then came to me and swept me up in his arms. He laid me gently on the bed and as we began to kiss I felt him slide my undies down my legs. I sat up and took off my dress while he pulled his clothes off.

It had been more than two months since we last made love and we tried to make up for it. It felt good to be skin to skin again. Our relationship was still new and the sex had a kind of magic so we kept it up as long as we could.

When we had exhausted ourselves, he pulled down the covers and we snuggled together inside the silky sheets.

"I have something for you," he said and reached for his jacket. He pulled a box out of one of the pockets and handed it to me. "I hope you like it, Levon helped me pick it out," he said shyly.

I opened the box and saw a diamond hanging from a gold chain. "It's beautiful," I said, "I love it, I didn't expect anything from you. Would you help me put it on?" I lifted my hair so he could fasten it around my neck.

"It's perfect," he said, "I'm glad you like it. We've got to get some sleep, I'll have the hotel operator wake us up at six so we can take a shower. You need to rest, we have a long night ahead of us."

I was dreaming about a phone ringing. I always turn my phone off at night, why was it ringing now? I opened my eyes and sat up, startled. Where was I? Why was it dark? I looked around nervously trying to figure out where I was.

"Hey, you're just disoriented," he put his arms around me to reassure me, "We'll take a shower and go to soundcheck, then we'll get dinner. You needed that nap, we've got a long night ahead of us."

The shower did make me feel better. I was rinsing out my hair when I felt his hands on me. He was pulling me back against him and I thought, again?

His mustache tickled my neck, "I'm only trying to make up for lost time," he said mischievously.

"You're going to wear me out!" I objected and he laughed.

He dried off and went into the bedroom to get dressed. I dried my long hair then put on the dress I had bought at an Indian import shop. It was embroidered around the neck and waist with flowers that had tiny mirrors in the center. The dark pink color was more flattering than Gina's dress. I'd bought some low heeled pink sandals to go with it and after I did my makeup I felt, well, pretty.

"Hey, come here," he called me and I went into the bedroom to see what he wanted. To my dismay he was chopping coke on a mirror and dividing it into four lines—I guessed the two smaller ones were intended four me.

He saw the look on my face and said, "Hey, we've got a long night ahead of us. This will help you stay awake, that's all. Come on," he cajoled, "It's not like you do this all the time. Doing it with me for a few days won't turn you into an addict. I just want you to be able to enjoy yourself and stay awake."

He handed me a little silver straw and I knelt down and inhaled two of the smallest of the four lines. He patted me on the back like I'd done something he was proud of. I wasn't proud of myself, I was just taking the easy way out. And if our night would be as late as he said it was, well, maybe the coke would help.

Just before we left the room he put the pass around my neck. "You're my VIP," he said and smiled "if someone asks who you belong with, you just show them that."

We left the room and headed towards the elevator where Levon was waiting for us. He whistled when he saw me and said, "Well, don't you look purty in your pink dress, Rick better keep an eye on you."

"Purty", not "pretty", the southern boy with the dreamy blue eyes could charm the pants off any girl and I'm not so sure I'm an exception.

"Careful, Levon," warned Rick and we got into the elevator. "You do look pretty in that dress, I should have told you. Watch Levon, he's not trustworthy."

We all laughed at that and were still laughing as we left the elevator. The limos were waiting for us and we rode with Levon in the first while the others rode in the one parked behind us.

I was surprised at how big the arena looked. I'd been to lots of concerts, but never behind the scenes. I watched as they made sure that the roadies had set up the equipment correctly, then started playing parts of one song to test the sound, then played another through. I thought I would be bored and would read the book I had brought with me, but I was fascinated. It reminded me a little of watching them work on songs in the studio, only here they were fine-tuning the sound.

"Be with you in a second, hon," Rick called down when they finished and directed one of the crew to take me backstage. I watched as they took their instruments with them, even Levon's drums were carefully loaded into the back of a truck.

I was in a daze, I was in a dream and it wasn't the coke. Since Rick had come into my life everything had changed, I didn't feel like I was even the same person anymore. At the moment I was even willing to overlook the coke or whatever drugs around me.

This is not a dream you'll be stuck in, I told myself, when you get home you'll be back in your own real world. And when he's back from touring it will be like it was before. That was what I wanted more than anything.

I had no idea if he'd tire of me and I wanted to make sure that if that happened, I did not fall apart.

The limos pulled in front of a nice steakhouse and I wondered how much I'd be able to eat after the coke. He'd explained to me that they always ate a good dinner before a show. To me that made sense, I'd eat a good meal and take in some liquid nutrients before I did a serious bike ride. I don't know how much energy you'd burn performing on stage, but I had a better idea now.

We were seated at a table and ordered drinks while we waited for our menus. Rick got up and took my hand and led me down the corridor to the restrooms that restaurants all seem to have. I wondered what he was doing, then he took me in his arms.

"I love you, I haven't told you since you got here. I want you to know how much I've missed spending time with you. I've been counting the days until I got to see you." He smiled, his eyes shining.

I answered by kissing him, then saying, "I love you too. This is so crazy. I've been so happy since I met you, I don't want to lose this."

He hugged me tightly, then said, "Me neither, but we better get back to the table." He kissed the top of my hair and we went back to the table.

They ate like teenage boys. For me, a steak, salad, and baked potato were enough, but anything I left untouched went into Rick's mouth. The two bottles of a good red wine that they ordered were drained dry and I'm surprised they didn't order dessert—well, one of them did.

When we were finished and the check had been taken care of, it was back to the limos and on to the arena. I was nervous, Rick could sense it, we'd discovered that we were sensitive to the other's moods.

"I'm a little nervous before a show myself," he whispered in my ear, "But you seem to be nervous enough for both of us. What's wrong, baby?"

"I don't know, maybe it's the coke, maybe because this is unfamiliar territory and I'm not sure how to react to it. This should be fun and I'm getting anxious and I don't like it, and I don't like that you can tell."

"You'll be okay," he said, "Everybody loves you at the studio, this will be no different."

We got to the arena and settled in backstage. One of the opening bands had already performed and were mingling with the other groups. Rick kept me close, reassuring me but not coddling me.

At one point he excused himself, "Be right back, sweetheart," he said. On my own now I watched the others, the girls flocking around Levon since Rick was obviously occupied. Other VIP non-performers were talking to the band and the other groups. There were the inevitable "hangers-on" but it was a good bunch of people for the most part.

Rick hadn't come back and I went to find him. Since I didn't know my way around I tried not to wander too far from the main area. I found a little corridor that led to some restrooms when I saw him.

He wasn't alone. A petite blond in a pink dress had her arm around his waist as he was signing his autograph for her. I looked, dumbfounded, trying to determine what was going on.

She looked up and saw me. She held up a small camera and said, "Oh, could you take a picture of us?"

I looked at Rick, wanting to run but wouldn't allow myself to make a scene. "What are you doing?" I asked him, then turned around and headed back down the hallway.

I heard his footsteps behind me and started walking faster, but he caught me. He put his arms around me and though I tried to push him away he wouldn't let go.

"Nothing happened," he said, "Nothing was going to happen."

"Then why did she have her arm around you?" I was trying not to cry and only half succeeding.

"Look, this business is hard on relationships. Does this happen a lot? Unfortunately, yes. You need to learn to ignore the groupies, they follow us around, we don't ask them to come. Do you think I'd be with anyone else while I have you here?" He was soothing me, gentling me

"No," I said reluctantly, "But she's so pretty compared to me."

"You little idiot," he said, exasperated, "You're beautiful, I wish I had a mirror so you could see you the way I do. And you've got brains which is even better. Now, come on, we gotta go back because we'll be on stage pretty soon. And I want to know you're not mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," I sighed, "I love you, remember?"


	9. Give a Big Hand to the Band

We go to his dressing room so he can change into his stage clothes. I've never been backstage so I've never been in a dressing room before. It's nothing fancy, but it does have a shower so he can wash off the sweat he'll work up during the performance.

He strips off his jeans and his shirt and hangs them up in the closet. He puts on a brown suit and maroon shirt which suits him rather nicely. He looks handsome, dapper until I notice that he's misbuttoned a shirt button.

"Come here," I tell him and start to unbutton his shirt.

"Can't wait to tear my clothes off, huh?" he teases and tell him to hush.

I have to undo most of his buttons, but get them straightened out. I leave the first two undone and fold the collar over his jacket then step back to admire my handiwork.

"You look good, you're going to have the women in the audience swooning if women still do that sort of thing. You know, I've never seen you perform before, this is going to be a real treat."

He picked up his bass and put his arm around my shoulders. "Come on, we've got to go. Ben is going to look out for you. There's a place where the VIP's watch the concert and that's where you'll be. We'll play a ninety-minute set and two encores, then Ben will take you backstage to join me."

"My personal bodyguard, huh?"

"I guess you could say that. People always think that concerts are a lot more organized than they are, it's more like organized chaos."

Ben showed me to a spot where Rick could look down and see me. Unfortunately, the little blond groupie was standing there too. I don't know who she charmed, fucked, or sucked to get there. All I wanted was for her to stay out of my way and not make goo-goo eyes at Rick.

The house lights were darkened, then a man came on stage and announced into the microphone, "Ladies and Gentlemen, give a big hand to The Band!"

The auditorium burst in applause and yells, then the band began to play. I was so close I could feel the music as much as I could hear it. The Dallas audience clapped and stomped their cowboy boots in time to the rhythm and the mood was so infectious I was clapping and stomping my little high heels along with them.

After they finished their first number they took a bow, the first of many. Rick looked down and smiled at me, a smile that was meant only for me. When someone threw roses on the stage, he picked up a couple and threw them to me.

The little blond groupie glared at me.

I could feel the energy coming from the audience. Rick had told me about this, about how the audience put out this energy that the performers quite literally feel. I hadn't believed it because I never experienced it but I could tell by the way their playing changed that it was real. Their moods seemed to raise, they bantered amongst themselves, and Rick told his bad jokes, making the audience laugh.

What was happening was magic and I could not believe how quickly time flew, even with the two encores. As the audience clapped and yelled, demanding another encore, Ben came to get me.

"He wants you backstage now. He's going to shower and change then as soon as he can make his exit, then we'll head to the party. Come on, he's waiting for you."

I looked at the little groupie, no one seemed to be paying any attention to her and I hoped I would not see her at the party.

Rick held out his arm when he saw me and nestled me into him. "So, how did you like the concert, babe? I see you still have the roses."

"One of the best I've ever seen," I answered truthfully. Not the best, that honor belonged to the Stones, but this one had an infectious spirit the Stones concerts hadn't had. Well, maybe that wasn't the truth but these were different musicians playing a different kind of music. They'd seemed closer to the crowd somehow.

"Come on," he said, I need a shower and I want to get out of these clothes." We wended our way through the backstage crowd, him shaking hands to avoid conversation when he could and divert people's attention away from me.

While he showered, I placed his suit and shirt in the bag, buttoning everything and smoothing it down. It needed to be dry cleaned and the shirt laundered before he wore it again. I tried to remember if there was another garment bag he'd brought with him.

He came out of the shower, naked, drying and shaking his hair. I tried not to laugh at the wicked grin he had on his face.

"How about it, babe," he said but I shook my head.

"Later, I don't want to come out of here looking freshly fucked and there seem to be some people here hoping to see just that."

"Wait until we get to the party, I can't help it but there will be people staring at you, wondering who you are. Most of them will write you off as a groupie, but don't let it bother you." He looked at me critically, "I'm afraid you're going to get hit on, but unless they're rude just brush them off as politely as possible. I'll try not to leave you alone, but I might get sidetracked. You can always go to Levon for help if things get too out of hand. You're going to be one of the prettiest girls there, and pretty girls get hit on."

"Yeah, right," I said as he got dressed and combed his wet hair, "That little blond is a lot prettier than me."

"Fuck that, he said, "You have something that she doesn't—class," and we made our escape to the limo where Levon was sitting with the blond.

"Serves you right," I thought, "But remember, you do have more class than she does—and Levon is not in love with her."

Rick sees me look at her and does something unexpected, he pulls me onto his lap, then says, "Hey Levon, what do they have to drink in here or do we have to wait till we get to the party."

"I have something better," Levon says in his thick southern accent and pulls a little silver vial out of his pocket. "Ladies first," he says to Blondie and puts it under her nose. She inhales twice, once for each nostril then hands it to me. I do so reluctantly, If I'm going to a party I'm not prepared for I may as well. Rick takes it next then hands it back to Levon.

By the time we're done assaulting our noses, we've reached the hotel where the party's being held. Rick shields me with his hand as we enter to the sound of clicking shutters.

"Damn photographers, it would be nice if they'd leave us alone. It's one thing if I'm with my wife, but I don't want you to be harassed. If anyone at the party asks about you tonight, tell them you and I are old friends. I promise I'll be with you as much as I can, I won't leave you on your own if I can help it. There are a lot of nice people here, just forget about the jerks. Some people will do anything to have a story and they won't care if it's true or not."

I hold my head up as we enter, and smile. Everyone from the show is here, even the roadies, which I think is nice. I meet the members of the other two groups that played and receive a whispered proposition or two which makes me giggle.

Rick's as good as his word and keeps a protective arm around me. The coke has loosened me up and it's not so hard for me to talk to strangers. When they feel safe and not caught off their guard musicians are nice people, at least the ones I've met at the studios. You expect stars to have these egos but I've found that's not the case. It's the wanna-be's who are the jerks because they know they're pretending to be what they're not.

"Hey, I see someone I want to go talk to, will you be all right if I leave you alone for five minutes?" he whispers in my ear. I look at him, panicked, and he pats me on the back. Go to the bar and get yourself a drink. I haven't seen anyone staring at us so it'll be all right." He kisses me and walks into the crowd.

He's wrong about no one looking at us. I've caught a few hostile stares that either must be because I'm here with him and I'm not his wife. The stares from the groupies I can pretty much deal with. I don't like them, they whore themselves for free so they can say they fucked a certain rock star like they're collecting them.

One guy who's been staring and who I've been trying to ignore leaves the group of people he's been talking to and comes over to me and introduces himself in a British accent. I don't remember his name, I'm concentrating on trying to convince him to leave."

"You're not his wife, are you? Just who are you then and why are you with him?"

Nigel, I think he said his name was Nigel. "I'm a friend of his, we've known each other for a long time. I've just been through..."

My prayers are answered as Rick appears by my side. "Go interview someone else, Nigel, and leave my friend alone. She's had to deal with enough without being harassed by you. Rick takes my arm and steers me away. "I'm sorry about that, I should have realized he or someone like him would be here."

"People have been staring at us ever since we got here. Why didn't he just assume I was another groupie and leave me alone?"

"Because you don't look or act like one. I don't think any picture taken tonight will make it to print. You're not the first girl I've brought with me who's not my wife."

"Thank you for telling me that, like I really want to hear it. I don't want to hear about your other girls, I don't want to hear about your wife! This was supposed to be about us. We have something special but it's fragile, do you know what I'm saying? And I swear that someone said something to him before he came over to ask me questions."

"I'm sorry babe, I didn't expect this to happen. It's getting late, do you want to go back to the hotel?" "It's getting late, do you want to go back to the hotel?" He was trying to appease me and I appreciated it. "We've got a gig in San Antonio tomorrow. After we get there I'll have to put you on a plane back to LA, then I won't see you for another month. I think I'd like to spend a little more time with you alone--tonight."

I nodded, I'd been fine up until Nigel had tried to talk to me, but now the party wasn't fun anymore. I had been starting to enjoy myself but once that fucking Englishman got in my face it had spoiled things for me. I wondered if this was the only time this was going to happen.

"Let's go find Levon and tell him we're leaving. We'll send the limo back here once he drops us off. Levon probably won't want to leave until about six."

"Which is when you'd planned to leave, I know. I had every intention of staying with you until you wanted to leave but I'm feeling bummed out. Why did that jerk have to talk to me in the first place?"

"He was just making trouble, sweetheart, that's his specialty. He writes articles for the British tabloid press. His specialty is telling lies. I'd have hit him but I didn't want to cause a scene. Now let's find Levon and tell him what we're doing. I'm going to take you back to the hotel and make love to you until you forget what happened. I don't want that jerk to spoil our last night together."


	10. Fare You Well, I Love You More Than Words Can Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maisie's last day with Rick until he returns home. Unfortunately, a photographer snaps their picture. Rick hopes it won't go anywhere and Dacy is ready to go home

I woke to the feel of a hand squeezing my breast and his mouth playing with my nipple. I tried to slap him away.

"Stop that, we've got to get up—we have a plane to catch and besides, I'm starving."

"Umm, you have to earn your breakfast, young lady, and we do have enough time, after all, the band did rent the plane. And besides, it's going to be more than a month before I'll be able to see you again."

I gave in, I always give in, at least for now. We make love than take a shower and get dressed. Since we've worked up an appetite we go downstairs to the coffee shop for breakfast. On the way down I grab a paper since I want to read the review of last night's concert.

Levon followed us in, looking half-awake. And he's alone, the little groupie is gone and I wonder what happened. I'm about to say something when Rick pipes up."

"Where's your little blond friend, Levon?" he asks, "Not like you to spend the night alone if you can help it." I wonder if Rick is as glad to see her gone as I am.

"Ah, she left early this morning, she didn't really give a reason. Something about having to get home or some such thing. Besides," he picked up my hand and kissed it, "She was just another groupie, not a jewel like you have here."

I could kiss him for that, but I don't. I smile and thank him, telling him I'm not a jewel, not really, but Rick, bless him, objects.

We eat huge breakfasts, each of us, not lingering over them as we'd like but tucking away our eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast and lots of coffee. We've got to get packed and get our stuff ready for the roadies to take to the terminal.

I only have a few more hours with him and I'm trying to be brave and not cry. We'll fly to San Antonio and hopefully, Rick will be able to see me to my plane or at least help me check-in. I couldn't deal with it if he sent a roadie to do it in his place.

On the plane we sit apart from the others, holding onto each other somewhat desperately. He tells me how pretty I look in the denim dress (Gina's of course) I'm wearing and say, where did that necklace I'm wearing come from. I slug him and laugh, which is exactly what he wanted me to do.

He rubs his arm as if he's in pain. "You got quite a punch there girl," he tells me and I giggle. We're pretending that the time isn't passing as quickly as it is. We pretend time is standing still and that in a couple of hours we're going to be separated for over a month.

Eventually, the plane lands, we couldn't maintain our fantasy forever. We wait in the terminal while the baggage is being unloaded and soon Ben appears carrying my pink suitcase.

"Got your ticket, baby?" Rick asks me and I reach inside my bag and pull it out. It's not a long walk to where I need to check-in, I wish it were longer. Ben carries my case and Rick and I walk with our arms around each other, thinking we're safe from the madness of the night before.

Until someone snaps our picture, twice. I recognize the look on Rick's face. "Leave it," I tell him, "No good to make a scene here. I'd like to smash his camera. Is he someone you recognize?"

"No," Ben answers for him, "Just someone trying to get a picture. Why in the world they knew we'd be here is beyond me. No one should have known.

"Someone always seems to know," said Rick grimly, "But maybe that picture won't go anywhere. I'd sure like to know why he showed up here, though."

He helped me check and they walked me to the gate. "I can't stay and see you on our plane, sweetie, but after I get home I'll call you as soon as I can." He took me in his arms, held me tightly, "I love you, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you!"

"I'm going to miss you too. I know I'm not going to hear from you for a while after you get home, but please, get in touch with me as soon as you can?"

"I'll try to remember to call you at least once before the tour's over, babe, but please be understanding if I forget. You've seen how hectic things can get. You bore up real well and I'm proud of you." He gave me a quick kiss, then he and Ben disappeared into the terminal.

I retreat to the VIP lounge, hoping I will be left alone. I hope my face doesn't betray how I'm feeling but Gina is always telling me I wear my heart on my sleeve and I should learn to hide my feelings more. I wish I could do that, I really do. On a rare occasion, I succeed, but usually, my face betrays what my heart feels.

A stranger settles into the seat next to me, easing his bulk carefully into the chair. For a big man, he maneuvers himself rather well. I look at him and recognize the man who sat next to me on the flight to Dallas.

If he lost about a hundred pounds he wouldn't be bad looking. He's had his hair and beard trimmed and the brown suit he's wearing looks nice on him. The bolo tie is corny but it seems to be a popular affectation. My dad used to wear them, along with his cowboy boots—he was from Texas after all.

"Well, little lady," he says in that syrupy southern accent of his, "Why do you look so sad? Did that boyfriend of yours abandon you after all?"

I could take offense but I don't. "No, three days was all I could get off from work and I have to fly back home. It was hard to say goodbye but I couldn't believe how crazy the tour was. Being away from him is hard, but I think I'd rather be at home. Besides, I have to get back to work."

Our flight was announced and we walked together to board. I wondered if I should trust him but I don't think I've given out any information as to who I was seeing—except when Rick met me at the airport.

We settle into our seats and the stewardess takes our drink orders. I have the window seat again and look out over the tarmac wondering where their plane is.

"So you like working?" he asks, "Never wanted to have a man to support you so you didn't have to?"

"No, never, what would I do if I didn't work? And I like earning my own money, I like being independent. I'm just not the housewife type, you know? Stay home, watch the soaps, cook, clean. I clean when I feel like it, eat out as often as I cook though I am a good cook. It's just not the life I want. I'd be a terrible wife, my poor husband or boyfriend would never know if I'm home, would have to put up with my sloppy cleaning, and wouldn't get that home-cooked meal every night he'd deserve."

He laughed in a way that let me know he wasn't making fun of me. "So what would you be doing instead?"

"I'd be study archaeology at UCLA, I've lived in California long enough to get resident tuition. I'd study hard to I'd want to get the best grades I could so I could get into the graduate program. If I did have spare time I'd be out taking pictures or writing, but I imagine I wouldn't have much time for that. "

"Men want their wives to be, well, wives, right? I'll be turning twenty-four soon and I'm just not ready to do the wife thing, I don't even know if I want to. In the meantime I have a job that pays good money for a college dropout, I love my job about half the time because the people can be great. I don't want to go into management because that's not me. I wish I made more money but I live well enough with what I have."

"I don't think you're willing to give marriage a chance," he rumbled in his deep voice, "Maybe there's someone out there who'd stand behind you to help you get what you want."

"Well, I haven't met him yet," I respond, but that's not true. I don't what it would be like if Rick and I could truly be together. Would he understand what I wanted? Would he support my going to school and be willing to live with a messy house when I don't have time to clean? As far as I'm concerned, I've met the man of my dreams but I have to admit I don't really know him. We enjoy each other, we like each other but then there's the drug thing. How much of that would I have to put up with?

Gina was waiting for me in her little Volkswagon beetle. "Well," she demanded, "How was it?"

"It was great, except for groupies, pesky photographers, and an obnoxious reporter from a British tabloid who tried to interrogate me."

"That's not what I wanted to hear," she said sternly, "You're making it wound like you were miserable the whole time."

"I'm sorry," I said, "It's just that I didn't expect that stuff to happen. Rick was wonderful, the boys in the band were welcoming, and the party was crazy. It's just that there was stuff happening that I wasn't ready for—like how much coke he does, and had me doing it too."

"What?" I could hear Gina's Italian mama coming out.

"I mean, I've seen some at the studio but I've never seen him do so much as he did at the party. And he drank more, too. That whole scene was crazy but he seemed comfortable with it. The drugs, the alcohol, the hangers-on, reporters pretending to be journalists and so-called photographers trying to get pictures to sell. I mean, he tried to shield me but he left me for a moment to talk to someone then had to rescue me from this jerk from some British tabloid. We left after that, fortunately."

"Are you sure that this is what you want? Honey, you're with a married man for crying out loud. I wanted to see you with someone nice, this is not what I had in mind."

"Gina, I'm head over heels for this guy, but I'm not spineless. Hey, I'm hungry, let's go to Thirteen Coins, my treat." I hadn't told her about the hundred dollar bill he'd slipped into my pocket, and I wanted to show her the diamond pendant he'd bought me. Gina was wrong, I had found that someone nice, he just happened to be a married musician. As long as he wanted me, I was going to be there. The only obstacle for our happiness would be if his wife found out about us. In the meantime, I was happy and in love.

I wonder what is going to happen to those pictures? Rick didn't seem overly worried, maybe he's had pictures of him taken with groupies before so it's no big deal. Anyone seeing us together would have no idea that I'm anything more than a groupie who's been keeping him company. An important magazine like "Rolling Stone" wouldn't bother with them. I'm safe, I tell myself.

When we get to 13 Coins I tell Gina what she wants to hear and show her the diamond pendant Rick got me. It will be all right, I tell myself, I in over my head, but the next time I'll know what to expect.


	11. Found Out?

We were making love when the pain hit. It had been two weeks since he'd come back from the tour and it was the first time I'd seen him. He'd called me a few times and even sent me flowers.

It was supposed to be our reunion after being apart and I'd been looking forward to it and the pain was an unwelcome intruder. I hoped he didn't notice, but he did.

"What's wrong, Dacy?" he asked and stopped. He pulled out of me though I didn't want him to.

"It's nothing, just be careful," I said, but he wasn't buying it. Inwardly I was thinking, oh no, not again, please god, not again.

I almost died a couple of years ago from a pelvic infection. I have a scar on my bikini line that's about four inches long that I'm very self conscious about. Rick only asked about it once and then never mentioned it again.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, "Come on, you have to tell me."

"It wasn't you, it was me. It's like the time I had surgery, only the pain isn't as bad. Okay, I hurt, but I don't know where it's coming from."

"Do you think you're having a miscarriage? Or cramps?" He's asking questions only a married, or as good as married, man might ask his partner. He knows I don't use anything and we made a pact to decide what to do if I get pregnant. Personally, I plan on getting an abortion, I'm am definitely not ready for motherhood.

"No, I'm not pregnant and it's too soon to have my period. Rick, I'm kind of scared that something bad might be happening and I'm going to wind up having surgery again." I know something is wrong, I can feel it. The last thing I want to do is go under the knife, but I may not have a choice.

"You go to the doctor, tomorrow, you hear me? And call in sick, none of this 'I'll be okay' bullshit. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me."

"Yes, okay I will," I say meekly. I know he's right, I'd try to pretend it's nothing even though I know better.

He does something he's only done once, he traces my scar with a gentle finger. "If you have to have surgery, that's okay. I'd rather see you with another scar than have to attend your funeral. Your life is half mine now, I want you to take care of yourself." He gets up and gets dressed. I don't want him to leave but I understand. He kisses me goodbye and says, "Go to the doctor."

At nine o'clock I call and make a doctor's appointment. Then I make a pot of coffee and call in sick to work. The last time I went through this I was still living in Seattle and working at a different phone company. I tell Dorothy, the world's greatest clerk, the whole ugly story and that I hope I'm not going to see a repeat of the past.

She tells me to take care of myself and asks if I've heard from Rick. Well, yes I have, I tell her, but I don't tell her about last night. I promise to rest and I'll get back to her and let her know what's going on.

I'm sitting in the doctor's office, hurting like hell. Excedrin isn't even touching this. I'm glad when my name is called and I go into the room After the nurse does her thing Doc Amundsen comes in and looks at me over his half glasses and asks where I hurt.

I point to my right side—where it all began—and his fingers probe my abdomen and he tells me he's going to have to do a pelvic, he can feel a mass there.

Yech, hate those, but I dutifully undress from the waist down and let him do his thing. He confirms that he has found something and has the nurse take some blood. I tell him about the pain, how bad it is, and can he give me something because over the counter medication isn't doing a thing. And please don't give me codeine.

I'm not a meds seeker and he knows it. He also knows my history and how scared I am. He's one of those older doctors with a kindly, no-nonsense manner. He pats my hand and says he'll give me some Percodan if it's that bad. And take it easy for a few days until the pain starts subsiding. He'll have the nurse call and tell me what course of action he's going to take.

I drop the scrip of at the pharmacy and go and eat a big breakfast. Narcotics are hard on my stomach, but food helps. I'd rather be a little sick than be in pain like I am now. I'm looking forward to catching up on the sleep I missed because the pain was too bad.

I pick up my drugs when I finish and go straight home. It's too early to call Gina and too early to hear from Rick. I put a jazz album on the turntable to mellow me out and take the perc. I also smoke half a joint, then cuddle under a blanket and let the Percodan work its magic.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but the album had finished and the clock on my wall read three o'clock. I was going to pull the album off the turntable when the phone rang. I sat up and wrapped the blanket more tightly around me then lifted the receiver and said a tenuous "hello?"

"What did the doctor say?" Wow, he probably hasn't been up for very long and he's calling.

"He doesn't know for sure, but did some bloodwork. There's a mass there, he said, and his nurse is going to call me and let me know what he's going to do. Whatever it is, I wish he'd just cut it out. He gave me Percodan and it's helping some but I wish it would help more."

"Well, if the pain gets too bad and he doesn't offer to help you let me know."

"Thanks," I say but think no thanks. I never mentioned that little packet that he left behind and I still don't know what it is. That's the thing that scares me about him, the alcohol and drugs. They're so normal in the music business and I don't want to get wrapped up in that.

What I don't admit to myself is that he's probably an addict, or maybe more than probably. If I asked he'd get me something with the best of intentions. People want to hang around with musicians so they bring drugs, all kinds of drugs. I don't ask him what he's into and he doesn't offer to tell.

"I'll come over in a couple of days to see how you're doing. I guess sex is going to be out of the picture for a while, huh?"

"Unfortunately, yes, but maybe I'll feel better in a few days. Maybe this is no more than a lot of nothing," I say with false hope.

"And maybe it's not. I want you to take care of yourself. You're my girl, remember? I love you."

"I love you too," I answer and we both we mean it.

Gina should be awake so I call to let her know what's going on. I'd rather help someone out than ask for it, but I'm going to need her for a few days.

"What?" she asks when I tell her what happened, "Are you all right?" I can hear the concern in her voice.

"Yes, it's like what happened to me when I lived in Seattle, only the pain is different this time. I should hear from the nurse tomorrow about how the doctor plans to treat it. I'm just not up to moving around much, and I'm wondering if you'd mind running an errand for me if I need it, or picking up some food. I can't ask Rick..."

"Oh, so Rick knows, how did he find out?"

"We were making love when the pain hit. I promised him I'd go to the doctor so I did. I'm living on Percodan at the moment, so I really shouldn't be driving."

I heard her exhale into the receiver, "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

I don't even try to lie to 'Mama Gina", "Look, I don't know what's going on. Maybe it's nothing and I'll be better in a few days. Rick's worrying about me and now I have you worrying, too. I just need help for a few days, I'll try not to ask for much."

"Just let me know what's going on, okay? Dacy, I don't think you're willing to admit this might be more serious than you think."

"Don't say that, don't even think it. I don't want to wind up going under the knife again. I hate hospitals."

"Okay," Gina cajoles, "Just be careful for crying out loud."

A few hours later a huge flower arrangement arrives for me. The card reads, "Take care of yourself", I would have preferred something more personal but I get the point. Gina will be impressed.

The doctor is trying to treat this with antibiotics but I don't feel like it's helping. Some days I seem better and on one of them Rick and I make love. The next day I'm hurting again. This is going on too long and the doc insists on continuing the antibiotics though I'm feeling no better. I try working whenever I can and I'm on the borderline with my attendance, but my boss knows what's going on. I've only been here a couple of years but I'm popular with management.

I finally consult a new doctor and he thinks there may be a better course of action. He's not ready to put me in the hospital yet, but we both agree that may be coming. He changes my pain meds to Demerol and tells me to call him the minute I get worse.

That happens the night Rick comes over. I've been in pain all day, reluctant to call the doctor. Rick takes one look at me and tells me to pack a bag because he's taking me to the emergency room. He'll call Gina for me and ask her to look after my cats.

He puts his arms around me and I burst into tears, I'm so exhausted from the pain and lack of sleep that I'm an emotional wreck. He doesn't just drop me off, he comes in and gets me signed in and tells the attending nurse what's been going on. After that, he has to say goodbye and let them do their job. I want him to stay, I need him to stay but he has to leave.

I'm in surgery by nine o'clock. I wake up in pain, my throat's sore and I can't move, or talk, or go back to sleep. Finally, they move me out of the damn recovery room and put me in a room in the ICU. I spend the day making the nurses' lives miserable because I feel miserable.

The next day I feel better and make my apologies to the nurses—it's the least I can do., The doctor is being generous with the pain meds and it helps, especially since I'm expected to get up and walk today. A huge flower arrangement is delivered to my room--the band has signed the card which I think is sweet. It lifts my spirits and for the moment I don't fret about when I'll see Rick.

In the afternoon I take my IV stand for a walk. A nurse walks with me and I'm proud that I'm doing this, though the Demerol is probably helping. I make up my mind to walk as much as I can. Tomorrow I get to take a shower and wash my hair—if Rick shows up I will at least look presentable.

I'm alone in my room, for now, my roommate checked out and no one has been moved in. It's better to be alone unless you have the right roommate. I don't have to put up with noise from the television, or visitors because right now I'm kind of depressed. Gina is coming in this afternoon, and I've had a few calls from people at work.

I fall asleep after my walk and a terrible hospital lunch. The painkillers take the edge off the pain. My bed is comfortable and though there is noise in the hall my room is quiet. I'll be awake when Gina shows up and we can have a good chat.

I'm not really dreaming, but images are flitting through my mind. I am dreaming that I hear footsteps come into my room, not the quiet cross trainers the nurses wear but whoever it is wears shoes with hells that make clicking sounds.

I become aware that someone is standing at the foot of my bed. I open my eyes and look up and a woman is staring at me, saying, "Who are you?"

"Go away," I answer and pick up the remote that controls the television and the nurse's call button. I look straight at her and push the button.

She gets a look of panic on her face and turns and leaves. It wasn't my imagination or a dream, it was real. One of the nurses comes into my room and asks me if I'm all right.

"Someone was here who didn't belong here and I don't know why. I was afraid she wouldn't leave so I called."  
ut  
"Well, I didn't see anyone, maybe she was just in the wrong room." She fluffs my pillows and pulls up my blanket. "How about something to drink? You can have a coke if you like."

I nod, and she leaves to fetch me a coke. I don't believe the woman was here by accident and I have to tell Rick what happened. We may have been found out.


	12. Maybe Not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finally comes to see Dacy in the hospital and she tells him of the strange experience she had that afternoon

“Tell me again what happened,” says Gina.

This is the third time I’m having to tell her this. “I’m lying in bed, half asleep and sort of dreaming. I hear these footsteps tapping and I wake up. I look up and there’s a woman standing at the foot of my bed saying, ‘Who are you?’ Then, when I pick up the remote and call the nurse, she leaves. Period. End of story. Now, doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?”

“Look,” said Gina patiently, “Number one, you had surgery a couple of days ago. Number two, you’re pumped full of painkillers so you might not be thinking clearly. Number three, you and Rick are kind of scared of being discovered—right? It just might be your body, and the drugs, and the stress of surgery messing with your head. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“So you think I shouldn’t tell him.”

“No, I know you shouldn’t tell him. He’s been worried about you though he’s trying to pretend he’s not. And, by the way, he paid your rent for next month, he bought you a bunch of groceries, and he’s had a housekeeper come in to clean your apartment. Don’t you go telling him that I told you this, you hear? It’s supposed to be a surprise. Oh, and I bought a couple of new nighties for you, and makeup for when he comes to see you, which should be tomorrow. Don’t you think he deserves to see a happy girlfriend who’s getting better instead of one who’s going to stress him out?”

I sigh. Gina’s probably right, it could have been someone who accidentally came into the wrong room, but it doesn’t feel that way. After all he’s done for me, he should see me looking pretty and cheerful, especially since the doctor says I’m doing better than he expected. I’ve talked him into letting me have a month off work. I have a paycheck waiting that Gina’s promised to pick up and I may borrow some money from my parents and head to Mazatlan to get some color back because I’m pasty white.

I put the thought of the mystery woman out of my mind and drift gently off to sleep. There’s something about being in a hospital that takes you out of the real world. I’m not ready to go home yet, it’s I’m looking forward to it. I just wonder what it’s going to be like to not be waited on. Or lose those lovely Demerol injections whenever I’m in pain.

The next morning I wake up feeling happy—Rick’s coming. No matter when he shows up he’ll be here sometime today. I take a shower and wash my hair which I can’t do much with since it’s tiring to stand. I put on one of the nighties Gina brought me, a moss green trimmed with gold ribbons.Over this goes a black kimono jacket and I must admit I’m happy with the way I look. For the first time in days, I put on makeup.

I get a few whistles as I walk down the hall and it puts a spring in my step. Walking still isn’t the easiest thing to do, but I want to get better. The happier the doctor is with me the sooner I can go home. And, the sooner I can get better Rick and I can have sex again.

I’m cheerful as I wait and the nurses notice. I’m being teased but that’s okay. No one knows who he is, as far as they know he’s just my boyfriend. I get a hard time and even some sympathy about his taking so long to show up, but I know he’ll be here.

At seven o’clock I hear the familiar thunk of his cowboy boots on the linoleum. He sets down his guitar case--I swear the guitar is attached to him--and he takes me in his arms, trying to void the IV lines. It feels so good to have him hold me.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers in my ear and squeezes me tightly, then holds me at arms’ length. “You’re a little pale, but you look really good. And you put on makeup! You look really hot in that green nightie, I’d like to take it off.”

“Not advisable, if I have to wait, so do you! I’ll be home in a few days, I hope, and we can see what we can do to make each other happy.”

“Umm, sounds good, but are you sure we can’t do anything now?” he said with a boyish grin.

“Nice try,” I told him, “I’m afraid that has to wait. I’m just glad this is over with and now I won’t have to live with that damn pain.”

“You don’t know how much it hurt me to watch you suffer, young lady, and the fact I couldn’t do anything about it made it worse.” He started kissing me and I hoped the nurse didn’t walk in.

He pulled away and smiled, then went and shut the door. He pulled his guitar from the case and sat at the end of the bed and began to play. One by one I heard the melody of my favorite songs and his beautiful tenor voice. The music soothed me like a lullaby and I began to relax and my head began to nod.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said and touched the tip of my nose. The nurse is probably going to come and tell me that visiting hours are over."

The word “visiting” struck a nerve and I decided to ignore Gina’s advice.

“Rick, before you go, can I tell you something? Even if it sounds really weird?”

“Of course,” he said, and put his guitar away, “What is it?”

“Well, something really strange happened to me yesterday,” and I proceeded to tell him about the woman who came into my room.

“Were you worried it was my wife?” he asked, and I nodded. “Sweetie, I’m sure it wasn’t. I don’t know how she’d even have found out. You’ve been so stressed by what was going on, then there’s the surgery, and you’re hopped up on drugs I’ve love to get my hands on. I’m sure it was someone who went into the wrong room and then asked who you were because she didn’t know she was in the wrong place.”

He had an odd look on his face, though, like he was worried too but he didn’t want me to know. He had a point, how could she have known about me because we have been really careful. And how would she have known that I was in the hospital? He always said he appreciated the fact that I understood that we needed to be cautious. I was never careless, and only ever went to the studio to see him. 

“Tell you what, you just concentrate on getting better. Hopefully, you will be out of here in a few days and back to your apartment. You won’t feel so stressed once you’re in your familiar surroundings. Hospitals aren’t nice places, believe me, I know. What happened was probably nothing so treat it like that. We’re missing you at the studio, even Robbie asks about you. I’ll try to come see you tomorrow, but I can’t make any promises.” He leaned over and kissed me tenderly, “Once you’re out of here things will seem better, you’ll see.”

Six days from when Rick took me to the emergency room I was finally allowed to go home. Check out time for hospitals tends to be eleven and a very grumpy Gina came to pick me up.

“I wouldn’t be up this early for anyone but you,” she groused, but she was the only one who could pick me up, there was no one else. “Let’s get this over with, you’re done with all the medical stuff, right?“′

“Yes, everything is signed and I’ve got my bottle of pain pills in my purse. At least you’re off today, Gigi, so it could be worse. I’m sorry to pull you out of bed so early but...”

“I know there’s no one but me you could call on, so it’s my pleasure. I forget sometimes that you don’t have family here and all of your friends are from the company. Tell me, did you even tell your family what happened?”

“Hell no, they’d try to talk me into flying to Seattle and staying with them. No way, I moved down here to get away from them. If they’re that curious about my wellbeing they can ask—and they haven’t.”

“Okay, sorry, I forget what I sore subject this is for you. I happen to have a great family, I’m sorry you don’t. Does Rick know?”

“He started to ask about them once and I told him I didn’t want to talk about them, ever, and he left it alone. He has one of those great families too. People like you and him don’t really get what it’s like when you’d like to forget your family exists. Now, instead of unpleasant talk about family, I am going to buy you food and drinks at the restaurant of your choice. It’s the least I can do to thank you for emerging from bed before three p.m.

After she dropped me off at home and got me settled, I took a Demerol and smoked a joint. I threw a blanket over me and the cats snuggled with me. I have a comfortable couch and decided I’d rather be out in my living room than in the bedroom. Even the noise from the neighborhood didn’t bother me because I slept until I heard an insistent knocking at the door. I got up stiffly and went to answer it.

Rick stood there, smiling. “Welcome home, babe,” he said and took me in his arms, “How are you doing?”

“Better, but I slept too much. I want to take some Demerol but I haven’t eaten since about noon—what time is it now?”

“Midnight, or thereabouts. What have you been doing?”

“Sleeping, beautiful uninterrupted sleep. No one wanting to take my blood pressure, no one trying to serve me terrible food. The Demerol must have really knocked me out.”

He swept me up in his arms and carried me to the couch, then sat down and drew me close to him. “How long do we have to wait before we can have sex?”

“Three weeks,” I answered, “That’s a long time but it’s a lot sooner than I thought it would be.” I sighed, “It’s seemed like it’s been forever.”

“Well, remember what I told you in the hospital, that there were things we could do? Would you be willing to do something for me.” He put his mouth on my ear, tickling it with his tongue.

I thought for a moment, I never knew what to expect from him, then decided what the hell.

“Okay, if it’s something I can do that won’t hurt, I’m overdue for some Demerol.”

He smiled and undid his belt, then opened his jeans and pushed them down to his ankles. He took my hand and put it on him, putting his over mine and began moving it up and down, showing me how he wanted me to do.

I wished I could do a little more, but that would have to wait. In the meantime, I watched as his eyelids lowered, his mouth grew slack and he tipped his head back. He removed his hand and put it on my breast, caressing it and squeezing it gently, then moving his hand back to mine.

Suddenly his breathing grew faster and he began to moan. I can feel him climax as his semen spills over my fingers.

He opened his eyes and smiled, “I’m afraid we made a mess.”

“I’ll bring you something to clean up with, and I’m afraid I’m going to need a clean blanket.” I returned with a damp towel and a dry one. “Do you want to take a shower.”

“Nah, I’ll be all right.” He put his hand on my face, “Are you still worried about my girlfriend?”

“Well, yes, but now that I’m home I feel safer. If she ever shows up here, I’m moving to another city. I don’t want to be part of a twisted love triangle. I want things to be just like they are.”


	13. Can't You Hear Me Knocking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy is out of the hospital, waiting for her first visit from Rick. When he does show up, he's coked out and drunk. She tells him he needs to go to detox and that she is very worried for him but he brushes it off.

I’m almost two weeks out of the hospital and I still hurt. Going to Mexico is out because the pain is bad first thing in the morning and then it wakes me up in the middle of the night. I’m proud of myself, I’m only taking the Demerol twice a day—and I haven’t let Rick talk me out of any, yet.

If I had a fantasy about him coming over every day to check on me and see to my needs I’d be disappointed. He shows up about every three days to see how I’m doing—though he has sent me a flower arrangement that must have cost a small fortune.

He’s talked me out of one of my spare keys so he can just let himself in, as opposed to knocking on the door and waking my neighbors. I don’t know if I trust him enough to do this but I give in. It’s made life easier but now I never know when he’s going to show up. Well, that’s not true, he shows up about 3 a.m., musician hours he calls them.

He lets himself in about the usual time tonight and since I’m half asleep it startles me. He’s dressed all in black and carrying his guitar. He also must be coked out of his mind because he’s got “cocaine eyes”.

Yes, there really is such a thing. His eyes are wide open, and the white is completely surrounding his irises. He’s also had a lot to drink because I can smell him from the doorway. He’s been hanging out at his favorite bar with four of his addict friends—I don’t say it, but when he’s like this I wish he’d stayed there.

He sets his guitar case down carefully and comes over to the couch. He lifts up my legs and then sits, replacing my legs on top of his. In spite of my objections, he pulls down my pajama pants and his hand begins to rub my belly, gently running his finger across my new scar.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, now rubbing my legs, then fingering the strip where the nurse shaved part of my pubic hair.

“Sometimes,” I answer, “If I try to do too much but it’s gotten better. I’ve even made a quick trip to the store. The Demerol helps but I don’t need it as much, just twice a day. What are you doing?”

He’s slipped his fingers inside me and though I’m not sure it’s a good idea I don’t want him to stop, it feels too good. He brings me to a point where I’m gently aroused and I’m responding. He brings me gently down then looks at me with his scary eyes.

“Think you can do something for me?” he asks then pushes my legs away. I start to pull up my pajamas but his hand stops mine. He undoes his jeans and pushes them down. “Do you think you can do something for me, baby?”

I crawl awkwardly between his legs and sees he’s started to get an erection. I know what he wants,so I take him in my mouth and start moving up and down the way he likes it. He takes my head in his and and guides me and I’m getting aroused by this. I like the feel of him, I like that at the moment I have him at my mercy.

“Let me know if you start to hurt,” he tells me softly but at the moment I’m too lost. Then I look up at him and nod and he realizes what I’m trying to tell him. He’s ready anyway and I feel him release himself into me.

I hate the taste of semen, so I get up, pull up my pants, and go into the bathroom to clean out my mouth. When I come back he’s laughing, and playing his guitar, trying different chords until he picks a song that he likes and starts to serenade me.

I sit patiently, listening, waiting for him to finish. His eyes have calmed down a little but the “coke eyes” are still there. When he plays the last chord of the song I decide to say what’s on my mind.

“How much coke have you had? ”

“Some, why?”

“Rick, it’s more than ‘some’, you came in here with eyes that almost scared the shit out of me. You and your harp player friend aren’t doing each other much good. You’re too much into the alcohol, the coke, and god only knows what else. Do you have any idea how much I worry about you? You’re getting behind the wheel drunk and all coked up—I keep expecting to hear that you’ve been in another accident.”

I took a deep breath, “I’m afraid that you’re slowly killing yourself. I don’t think you’re going to see old bones. Don’t you want to see your daughter grow up, your grandkids? Don’t they deserve a chance to know this wonderful, crazy guy that I love so much?”

He’s at a loss for words, which doesn’t happen often. His eyes soften as he puts down his guitar and holds out his hand to me.

I sit down next to him and he pulls me close then says, “Don’t worry, I beat death once and I don’t see it happening to me soon. I know what I’m doing, please don’t worry.”

I look up at him, “You need to go to detox and then find a doctor who can help you with your back. You can’t keep this up, no one can. You guys are living on borrowed time, I know this because I can feel it. I don’t care if we break up someday, though I don’t want to, I just want you well and happy.”

“Tell you what, let me worry about me, your job is to get better so we can have sex again. And I want to see you at the studio, the guys all miss you and send their love. I think it’s sweet that you’re so concerned for me, you just don’t need to be okay?” He tightened his arm around me, “Okay?” he repeated.

“Just take care of yourself.” I’ve lost the battle and I know it. I wonder again if his girlfriend is into drugs and alcohol to the extent that he is. If I were her I’d be fighting to get him clean and sober, and clean up myself along with him. I play with drugs a little and I’m not a big drinker. I don’t have an addictive personality but he does. Sometimes I wish he’d get away from his friends, but that’s not going to happen. I’m terrified that I’m going to hear that he’s died in a car crash or overdosed. He’s not going to stay young forever and his lifestyle is going to catch up to him.

He’s going to drive home and I’m worried. He’s slurring his words and his voice has that low pitch it gets when he’s had a lot to drink. I don’t care how awake the coke has him, or if it’s still working its way through his system. Either way, he has no business driving right now—he told me he’s wrecked a few cars, but I’ll bet he’s wrecked more than a few. If he drives now I’m afraid he’ll wreck one more.

I’d like to put him to bed but don’t want to take the chance of his falling asleep. I know he’s going to leave and there’s nothing I can do about it. I just wish he wouldn’t drink so much, the coke’s bad enough but the alcohol makes it worse.

As I feared, he stands up and tells me he’s got to leave. He embraces me and I can smell the alcohol. I hope he doesn’t get pulled over though it might be good for him if he did.

“Drive carefully,” I tell him, what else can I say? I watch him walk out the door, unsteady on his feet and listen to the tires screech as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Well, I signed up for this, right? What else can I expect? I may be only 24 but I know you can’t change someone. That’s got to be up to him.

(to my one and only reader: you know who you are! Can you please leave a comment or something to let me know what you think of my story?)


	14. Butter

Two weeks had passed since Rick took me to the emergency room. Two weeks since a second scar had been added to my stomach. I thought I would feel much better but I felt a little feverish, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold. I didn't know whether to worry or not, I hate to be a complainer.

It was a good thing that I had a doctor's appointment. I sat in one of the rooms, waiting for the nurse to come in and take my blood pressure and temperature. When she did, she assured me that all was well, though I did seem to have a slight temperature—had I had it for long?

I shrugged my shoulders, I don't own a thermometer, if something feels wrong then I go to the doctor. By the look on her face maybe I should get one. I'm getting the feeling that something is wrong.

The doctor comes in and looks at my scar, telling me I'm healing faster than he expected. "I'm a little worried about that fever," he says, "I'm going to have the nurse draw some blood and sent it to the lab. I'll give you a call and let you know the results of the tests." He patted me on the back, "Don't worry, it's probably nothing. You may need a stronger antibiotic. You'll hear from us in a couple of days."

I feel really restless. I get out a little but just to run errands, so I feel like doing something fun. I think I'll go to that bar where Rick told me he hangs out with his friends. If his girlfriend is there I'll make a quick exit, but I hope she's not.

I put on a pair of light blue denim shorts and a long-sleeved red and white striped tee-shirt. I look at myself in the mirror before I put on my tennis shoes and brush out my hair. I see the necklace he gave me and put it on, along with his favorite perfume. I grab my denim jacket because it's kind of on the cool side tonight, then lock my apartment and get in my car.

It's a nice night for driving and you can smell the ocean from the road. I roll down the window halfway and turn on the radio. One of Rick's songs comes on and I consider this a good omen.

The bar where he and his buddies hang out isn't too far from the beach and it draws a lot of traffic from surfers, skaters, and beachgoers, in addition to the people who come for the music. Tonight, though, there's no music so he'll be drinking with his buddies Richard, Bobby, and Butter.

I recognize three of them sitting at their favorite table, or at least I think it's them, but I don't see Rick. He's had facial hair for as long as I've known him and this guy sitting at their table is clean-shaven. I turn around and start to leave when I hear Rick call, "Hey!"

I turn around and my jaw drops—he's shaved. For as long as I've known him he's had facial hair that makes him look like a Mexican desperado or a Russian gypsy. I love to run my fingers through it, rub my cheek against it. This looks like a different person and I barely recognize him.

"You shaved," I said, dumbfounded and they laugh at me.

"She didn't recognize you, Rick," said Butter and I want to kill that swarthy-faced bearded bastard. He grew up on the streets of Chicago's Southside and can blow a blues harp that will make you weep. I love listening to him but he's an asshole and a mean one when he's been drinking. When he's in a good mood he can be fun, but his mood can turn on a dime, in which case, watch out.

"Shut up, Butter," says Rick and the others move to make room for me. I sit down and run my fingers down his cheek. He still has his heartbreaker looks, but now he looks like he's about sixteen. I don't know how I feel about the new Rick.

"Why'd you shave?" I ask because he hadn't mentioned wanting to shave off his facial hair before, at least to me anyway.

"I needed a change," he replied and stroked his chin with his hand, "It does feel kind of weird to have it gone. I'll have to get used to shaving every day."

"Well, I've been wanting to change how I look. I think I'm going to cut my hair."

"Oh no you're not," he replies, and takes a handful of my hair, twists it around his fingers and tugs gently at it.

"Stop that," I tell him and he lets go and puts his arm around my shoulders. He's showing me off again and I wish he wouldn't. He doesn't mean to, but it makes me feel like an object. And, I've been wanting to cut my hair, not short, but I want to make it look different. I'm tired of being the girl with brown eyes and long brown hair. "Hey," I say, "it's my hair, not yours."

"You're still not cutting it," he laughs and flags down the passing waitress. He holds up his glass, "Another one of these and get her a margarita." The waitress nods and heads to the bar. "How are you feeling, sweetheart? What did the doctor say?"

I wish he wouldn't bring that in front of his friends but he's been drinking and alcohol tends to loosen his tongue. This is something private, I want to tell him, don't ask about this now, but I bite the bullet.

"Oh, some little thing is bothering the doctor. The vampires took some blood and I'll find out in a couple of days if I have to go on super antibiotics. I guess I have a fever or something."

Harp blows on his harmonica, there is always at least one in his pocket. I guess he's as tired of this conversation as I am. The waitress comes back with our drinks and I enjoy the first alcohol I've had in over two weeks. The margarita is tart and the salt rimming the glass gives it a salty taste. It's a good one, too, homemade with real limes instead of a mix or bottled lime juice.

I close my eyes and lean against Rick, listening to him talk to the guys about some gigs they want to do around town. I think that I'm sipping on my drink but when I look down the waitress is replacing it with another and I'm feeling sort of light-headed. No Demerol for me tonight—damn.

I finish the second drink and stand up. At least I'm steady on my feet which means I haven't had too much to drive home. I better get out of here before Rick tries to convince to have another—alcoholics can drink alone but they like it better when there's someone they can drink with.

"Night guys, I'm tired so I'm going to go home. I guess I'm more tired than I thought I'd be." Which is the truth. I'm not exactly overdoing it but my body just doesn't feel in sync with my mind—I'd stay until closing if I could.

"I'll walk you to your car, hon," Rick says and I've learned not to argue with him. We stroll arm in arm out of the bar, I'm worrying that someone might see us but he doesn't seem to care.

"Are you really okay?" he asks me when we get outside.

"Of course, I just seem to have a little fever, and it's not all that high. I'm sure it's nothing significant. You know what they say about hospitals, they're the worst when it comes to getting sick. All those sick people spreading their illnesses you know." I think it's funny but he doesn't seem to think so.

He shakes his head, "Remember I kept telling you that you needed to go see a doctor but you wouldn't." That's only half true, he only told me that a couple of times.

"Why are you being like this?" I ask, "I don't want to be fussed over. You asked me how I was doing in front of your friends for crying out loud! I'm sure this is nothing if my doctor was really worried he would have put me back in the hospital. I'm fine, Rick, really. This is just a little inconvenience, I promise, and in a week we'll finally be able to have real sex."

This seems to satisfy him. He opens the car door for me (which I love, by the way) and kisses me. "Can I come over later?"

Please no, I think, and say out loud, "I'm going to be sleeping. You'd have to wake me up but I don't know how awake I'd be. I don't think that would be a good idea, not tonight."

He has a disappointed look on his face, but I tell him 'no' so seldom that he can deal with it. He kisses me and says, "Well, another time. In another week I'm going to show up with a bottle of Cristall and we'll celebrate. Can't wait to finally fuck you for real."

Me neither.


	15. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy experiences unexpected complications from her surgery which she did not expect. Gina finally voices her opinion about her relationship with Rick

A couple of days later my doctor called and told me I had a “funny bug”. What does that mean, exactly? Does it have a sense of humor? He told me that I had an infection that was uncommon, but entirely curable with stronger antibiotics, which he’s called into my pharmacy. I need to start taking them right away and come back for more blood work in two weeks to make sure it’s gone.

I’m tired of all this. I’ve had two major surgeries in two years and almost died the first time. Now I have some sort of exotic infection and the doc can’t even give me a cause.

I’m pissed. I put on my running clothes and take off in the direction of the beach. I’m going to run until I’m too tired to run anymore, then I’m going to get my hair cut.

The hairdresser cuts off four inches of hair which makes me look better. He also cut some very sexy 60′s style bangs that make me look like Jean Shrimpton. Between the run and the haircut, I feel great. If Rick doesn’t like it, too bad, he didn’t ask if I’d mind if he shaved off his beard and mustache.

I hope he doesn’t show up, at least not tonight, but around two a.m. he unlocks my door and wakes me. He looks at my hair and shakes his finger, then tells me I look nice.

“Come on out to the living room,” he says and I can smell the hash before I even get in there. He lights the pipe for me and I inhale and try to hold it in before I start coughing. I think it’s impossible to smoke hash and not cough, it seems to trigger the high for me anyway.

“Now, what did the doctor say?” he asks. I wish that for once he’d forget something that I told him and I try to explain what the doctor told me, only I don’t call it a “funny bug”. I show him the new antibiotics which are the size of horse tranks and are supposed to do the trick.

“What if they don’t?” he asks and I wish he’d quit asking so many questions.

“They will,” I assure him, “And if they don’t, he’ll either give me more or try something else. Hey, I went for a nice long run today and I’m feeling just fine. Maybe I’m just having a run of bad luck, but bad luck always runs out. I’m more worried about your girlfriend than I am about this.”

“Don’t be. She doesn’t know, she’d confront me if she did. When we got together I told her I needed my space sometimes, and don’t pay attention to rumors. You and I, we have our arrangement. We care about each other but we each have our own lives. I’ve never lied to you about Elizabeth, I made it clear that I’m in that relationship for keeps.” He tilts my chin with a long finger, “I’m going to have to let go of you someday. I’m being very selfish, right now I don’t feel like letting you go.”

I’m high and horny from the hash—it’s good stuff—I wish he’d try and take advantage of me, but he doesn’t. He caresses me, but that’s as far as it goes. I realize he’s been with me from beginning to end, that he’s looked out for me, even took me to the hospital. I know he wants to fuck me but he won’t until every day of the three weeks I’m supposed to wait has passed.

I want to tell him I’m not fragile, I won’t break but I’m touched. Here I am in a relationship with the bass player of a well-known band who could do a lot better than me. I was twenty-three when I met him, now I’m twenty-four and our relationship is going strong when it shouldn’t be.

I snuggle against him and he tightens his arms around me. “You’ve got to leave soon, don’t you?” I ask.

“Yes, but I don’t want to.” He sighs and sits up. “I won’t be back until next week. That damn album is taking longer than we thought it would. And things…”

“And things what?” He wants to tell me something but for some reason thinks he shouldn’t. Something is going on and he doesn’t want to tell me. I don’t know why, but one of these days he’s got to realize that I’m a big girl. The ten years between us isn’t all that much. I maybe wasn’t a grown-up when he met me, but I wasn’t exactly a kid, either.

He left while I was asleep. I hate it when he does that, but I found a rose next to me on the pillow. I get up and put it in water before Willie grabs it—that cat can make a toy out of anything—then go back to sleep.

It’s ten before I wake up and I make some coffee and eat some granola so I can take my drugs. I’m supposed to take this antibiotic on an empty stomach but I know from experience if I try to do that I’ll throw up.

I wait an hour then go for a run. After all this inactivity my body is craving exercise and running helps to get the kinks out. I haven’t seen Gina in a few days so I leave a message on her machine and tell her I have stuff to catch her up on so let’s go to dinner.

We meet at a new seafood place outside Malibu. It’s gotten good reviews and deserves them, my salmon tastes heavenly. It’s a bit pricey but since it’s my first official night out we decide we deserve it.

“Wow, your hair looks great. I’d never imagined you with bangs before, but they suit you,” she paused for a moment, “Does Rick know you cut it?”

“Yup,” I say and giggle, “One of the reasons I cut it is because he told me not to!”

We laugh but then her expression grows sober, “I hate him, you know.” I look up, startled, but I can see she’s being honest. “He doesn’t have any business being with you. I thought you guys would sleep together a few times—which is perfectly fine—but then go your separate ways. It was good that he was there to take you to the hospital, but you would have gotten there anyway. I just hate what he’s doing to you. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with another woman’s husband?”

“I never really think about that, but you’re right, I don’t. He said something strange last night, about how he should let me go but he’s too selfish.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he is, selfish, and I think he knows it. Is he going to go on tour soon? You need a break from him.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t asked. I don’t think things are going well in the studio and there may be more to it than that.”

“Like what?” she raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t know. He started to say something, then stopped. I didn’t press him, but I wish he’d fucking talk to me. It’s like he has this little insular world with me where nothing is supposed to be unpleasant or unhappy.”

“Like you’re an escape for him?”

“Yes, exactly. We talk a little, but mostly about things we already know. He won’t discuss the hard things with me, like when things aren’t going well or a problem he’s dealing with. It’s frustrating, you know. He knows I’m not an idiot, that I’m smart, that I’m a good listener.”

“Maybe he saves stuff like that for his wife, I mean his girlfriend.”

I set down my fork and take a long drink of wine. “Yes but that doesn’t mean it’s not still there.” I lean forward, trying to emphasize my point, “He showed up at my place really wasted one night, I’ve never seen him so out of it. He shouldn’t even have been driving. He’s a pretty heavy partier, but it was excessive even for him. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I wonder if something was wrong. Is wrong,” I correct myself.

“I’m worried about you,” she says, “I don’t want you to get drawn into that. You need to make him talk to you, tell you what’s going on. He needs to treat you like you’re an adult, for crying out loud, if you’re his girlfriend he owes you that. You’re letting him off easy and that’s doing him no favors. And maybe you should think about taking a break from him for a while.”

“Yes, maybe, if I can. It’s one thing to talk about it, but another to do it. He’s kind of moved himself into my life, you know. Maybe his girlfriend will find out about us and take the matter out of my hands.”

“You know you don’t want that,” she sighed, “But I can think of worse things that could happen. Just think, this has been going on for a year and this relationship doesn’t have anywhere to go. Why not find someone who’ll be there for you? Get out of this while you can, it’ll only get harder.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Gina. Maybe if I’m lucky he’ll leave me.” But he won’t, I told myself, he likes what he has with me and I don’t think he’s ready to walk away from it.


	16. Three weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three weeks since her surgery and Dacy and Rick are finally able to have sex. She is finally starting to realize that Rick is more heavily into drugs than she realized. Something negative is in the air, with Robbie leaving the band, what will the rest do without him?

Three weeks to the day and he’s going to come over tonight. He didn’t tell me, he didn’t have to. We’ve been waiting, only playing at sex and now it’s time for the real thing.

“Why are you with him?” Gina asked me again today and I tell her the truth.

“Besides the fact that I’m so in love with him it drives me crazy? It’s because he’s the best lover I’ve ever had. I never knew that sex could feel like this. Before I enjoyed it but never knew what an orgasm felt like or that it was normal to have them. He knows every inch of my body, knows what drives me crazy, sends me out of myself. I lost my virginity when I was sixteen but never, ever knew that something was missing from all the lovers I had. Now I know.”

I’ve cleaned my apartment to calm my nerves. Yes, I am nervous. We’ve only played around with sex since my surgery, leaving us a little satisfied but longing for what we want. It’s only been half-sex, well tonight that is going to change.

I’ve splurged on an expensive body lotion that smells heavenly. I’ve douched, taken a shower, and washed my hair. I’m been tearing through my closet and my drawers trying to decide what to wear: regular clothes? Lingerie? Nothing?

I settle for a pink dress I know he likes on me. I decide not to wear any underwear, I want him to be able to feel only me under it.

I turn around and look at my apartment. I’ve cleaned, for the first time in three weeks, and though it cost me I am proud I was able to do it. Only one electric light is on, I’ve lit a dozen candles, some scented, and it looks warm and inviting.

It’s ten o’clock. He told me he’ll be here around ten or so, which could mean anytime he chooses to show up. He’s not staying through the whole rehearsal and the guys are no doubt giving him a hard time about it. Levon, especially, will be joshing him about it. Levon, fortunately, likes me and the band will understand.

At eleven I hear knocking at my door and wonder who it is. I open it and Rick is standing there, a bottle of Cristall in one hand, his guitar in another and between his teeth he holds a bouquet.

I take the bouquet from his mouth and kiss him. “You could have set your guitar down, silly,” I say and he shrugs and grins. I love his little silly ways, how he tries to make me laugh. How can I not love this man?

He comes inside and takes off his coat, hanging it carefully in the closet. “Go put those in water,” he says, “And bring the champagne flutes. I know how much you love this stuff.

I got into the kitchen and out of the corner of my eyes, I see him go into the bathroom and bring out my mirror. Sigh. I won’t deny him anything tonight, but I wish the strongest drug he’d brought was some weed or some of that Afghani hash he knows I love. I start to wonder again just what else he is using. I don’t know if I’m ready to ask.

I leave the kitchen, carrying the vase with the bouquet he brought me. There’s peonies, hydrangeas, carnations, and some ferns. He knows I love flowers so every so often he surprises me, like tonight.

Before he starts chopping the coke, he reaches into his pocket. “I got this for you, I thought you’d like it.”

Inside a little silk pouch is a pair of pearl earrings. “They’re pink pearls, you told me you’ve always wanted a pair. He puts them in my ears, “There, they look nice on you, and they even go with your dress.”

He turns to the coke and starts chopping it on my mirror, two thin lines for me and two fat ones for him. I sit down and he hands me the mirror and a rolled-up dollar bill. Since this is his idea of celebrating I inhale the two small lines then hand it back to him.

I cringe as I see how much he’s doing, but I won’t say anything. I have promised myself that when the time is right I am going to confront him. Funny thing, though, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t do drugs, even Gina indulges now and then. For me, they’re more of a way to play than an everyday thing. I think for him coke is a regular part of his day. And maybe his girlfriend, too?

“You’ve got white powder under your nose,” I tell him and he wipes it off. He loads the hash pipe and that sweet aroma hits my nose. If there’s one thing Iove more than weed it’s hash. You don’t need to smoke as much of it and the high is more intense. One of these days I will grow up and stop enjoying illegal drugs but I’m only twenty-four and I intend to enjoy myself while I can get away with being irresponsible.

He slides his hand up my dress, then pauses, “You’re not wearing any underwear there, girl.”

“No, I’m not—you got a problem with that?”

He sets the pipe down and slides his hand up my dress, putting his fingers inside me and smiling when I begin to moan.

“No, not at all,” he answers, then removes his hand and scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom. Soon my dress is on the floor, followed by his clothes and now we can make up for the time that we’ve missed.

He’s gentle at first, then seeing that he’s not hurting his lovemaking becomes more insistent. I cry out the first time he makes me climax, but that’s not the only time that happens. We greedily devour each other—our lovemaking has never been like this, not even the first time.

Finally, he gets up to go to the bathroom. I go into the living room to get the champagne and when he comes back to the bedroom he has his guitar with him. He settles back on the pillows and begins to serenade me, insisting that I harmonize with him on the songs that I know.

He can play like this for hours. I lay back on my pillow and listen. It’s starting to get late and the coke is starting to wear off. I fetch the hash from the living room and fill the pipe, then light it, then try my hardest not to cough.

He puts down his guitar and takes the pipe from me. We share back and forth, sometimes blowing the smoke into the other’s mouth like you would with opium. I’m hoping I’ve had enough to be able to sleep in spite of the coke. He’ll be on his way soon, either to the studio or back home, probably home.

He puts his guitar away, snapping the clips that fasten the case. “I think I should leave, sweetheart, do you mind?” He kisses me so tenderly, sometimes I forget I’m the other woman.

“No, it’s all right,” but what I want to ask him is, “Tell me, are you all right? Is something going on? I feel like something’s wrong, Rick, I wish you’d tell me,” but I don’t say it even though I want to.

There are rumors around the music community that the band is going to break up. I’ve heard rumors from guys from the studio who come around to chit-chat. They know it’s no good to try to hit on me because it’s well known that I’m Rick’s girl.

It’s Robbie who wants to leave and that’s a big problem. He’s their principal songwriter, and any hits they’ve had he wrote. They can find another guitar player, there’s lots of talent waiting for their chance in this town, but a songwriter is another matter.

I know Rick would like to do his own album and if he does I wish him luck. He’s a talented bass player and guitarist, and you couldn’t ask for a better vocalist, but he’s not much of a songwriter. They’ve leaned on Robbie for so long I don’t see how they could find someone to take his place.

I suspect Rick’s drug problem is worse than I’ve guessed. I don’t know who else in the band has developed a habit, but I suspect Rick is not the only one. Geordie has taken over running the band and maybe he’s just tired. Maybe if I were him I’d feel the same way.

I smile at Rick and put my arms around him and kiss him. I tell him how much I love my earrings. I’m going to pretend everything is fine for the moment, but one of these days he’s going to have to tell me the truth—if I don’t find out anyway.


	17. H is for Smack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy sees Rick high on heroin and whatever for the first time and she discovers a possible reason--Geordie is leaving the band

It’s the night before I return to work. I’m picking out what I’m going to wear when the phone rings. I’m not expecting any calls, so I figure it’s a sales call or something.

“Can I come over—now?” Rick asks. He’s slurring his words and he doesn’t sound like his usual happy go lucky self. His new thing is positivity but right now positive is not what he sounds like.

“Sure, I’m just getting things together for work tomorrow. Someone told my parents I’d been in the hospital and they sent me some money. Guilt money, I’m guessing.

Soon as I get things straightened out I hear a car pull up in the parking lot, a car I’d recognize anywhere. The wheels screech to a halt because he’s pulled in too fast, he’s done this before but for some reason this worries me.

I listen to his footsteps coming up the stairs and his opens the door, shutting it a little harder than necessary. I come out of my room as he sets down his guitar then come into his waiting arms.

He’s bear-hugging me, swaying a little on his feet. I can smell alcohol in addition to leather and tobacco. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands there holding me as if he’s using me for support.

“Hey,” I say, gently pushing him away, “Let’s sit down, hmmm? I lead him to the couch and try to put a little space between us because the smell of alcohol and cigarettes is overwhelming but he’s having none of it.

He takes me in his arms and I sit quietly, waiting, there’s something he wants to tell me but maybe the alcohol and something more is keeping him from spilling it out.

Finally, it comes out. "Robbie's leaving the band, he’s out. We’ve finished the last album we’re ever going to do together.”

So the rumors were true. I’d like to be surprised but I’m not, but I’m also dismayed. They need him, he’s written 90% of their songs, and any hit they had has his signature on it. Even when the others wrote songs they didn’t have Geordie’s magic touch.

They’ve been together since they were teenagers, for crying out loud. They’ve gone to each other’s weddings, helped celebrate the arrival of each other’s children. They have history, how can he let that go?

I’m guessing the drugs are tearing the band apart. I suspect that Rick has moved on to heroin though I don’t have any way of proving it. Outside of the little private world we inhabit, I don’t know if he’s changed, if the drugs are catching up to him. With me he’s constant but our relationship is only a year old and we’re still learning each other.

“So what are you going to do now? You’ve talked about doing your own album, any chance of that happening?”

He shakes his shaggy black head. “Robbie has this idea of doing a farewell concert and doing it big. He wants to invite a bunch of people to participate. He wants to record it and release it as an album.

“Sort of a Local Boys and Friends?”

“Yeah, something like that. He has a director friend who wants to film it and make a movie out of it. Is that crazy or what?”

“Yeah, it’s crazy all right—one big “going out of business” sale crazy. Will you get paid?”

“We better. We’ll get some kind of stipend or something, then that’s it, we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Rick, this isn’t good. Shit, you’re a band, a team, a brotherhood—and he’s going to let it go just like that?”

He nods, “Excuse me, gotta use the bathroom.” He stumbles a little as he goes into my bathroom then comes out after a few minutes. It’s only later that I realize that I didn’t hear the toilet flush. Wives train their husbands too well for them to forget the lower the seat and flush the toilet.

He sat down. “I want to do my own album, but no one has offered to sign me yet.”

“Someone will, so in the meantime start writing songs and find friends who’ll write some for you.” I feel disloyal saying this, but he’s not a strong songwriter. He can write when he decides to get down to work and do it. He has friends who can do better and would be willing to help. Everyone loves him, you can’t help it. I wouldn’t be with him if he wasn’t one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met.

“Why have other people write some for me?” I was hoping he wouldn’t pay attention to that, but I have an answer for that.

“It’s called hedging your bets. You gotta make your first album shine so you’ll have good numbers, right? What’s the difference between that and covering other people’s songs? You guys have never been ashamed to cover a good tune and make it better. Make the first album a really good one that makes people take notice so you’ll get to do a second.”

“Hmm, come here. I don’t want to talk about albums right now, or Robbie. I want you there at the concert—I’m getting you a VIP pass and making hotel reservations and a plane ticket as soon as we get this put together.”

“But Elizabeth will be there,” I object. It’s not a smart idea but if he wants me there it will be hard to convince me not to go.

“There will be a lot of people there, a lot of guys, some of whom you know. Just be your sweet pretty self and you won’t be alone. This is important to me, Dacy, I need to have you there even if we can’t be together.”

I get it now, it’s a plea. He wants all the support he can gather around him and I’m to be part of it. I want to kill Robbie, but he’s the one who’s not gotten heavily into drugs like the others. I know he plays the part of babysitter or feels like he does, and I’m sure he’s burnt out.

I take Rick’s hand and lead him into the bedroom. His lovemaking lacks its usual enthusiasm, and I wonder what he’s on. I’ve never thought about that before, I just assume he did cocaine, drank, and smoked marijuana like we all do. I don’t understand why he’s into heroin, it’s way too scary for me to even think about. I’ve been offered some before—it’s all over and if you know musicians it’s impossible to avoid. I wonder what made him say yes.

The next day I go back to work. Everyone greets me, asks how I’m feeling, a few of the snide ones ask if I enjoyed my time off. Fuck ’em. I needed that time, first to heal physically, then to heal mentally. I’ve had major surgery twice in the last two years. If you don’t think that does a number on your head, you’re wrong. Surgery is invasive under the best of circumstances and it takes a while to get your head wrapped around it psychologically.

I find Gina and sit next to her and plug in. “Where have you been, stranger, I expected you to play nursemaid.”

“Don’t give me that, Dace, I drove by a few times and saw a certain car parked in front of your building.”

“That was only at night. No, seriously, where have you been? You fall in love or something??”

She blushes and I know I’ve hit the mark. Gina falls in love on a regular basis. She’s one of those dishy blonds with big blue eyes and she attracts men without even trying. She’s no more ready to settle down and do the husband and kids thing than I am, so she never gets serious about anyone, just tries to enjoy herself and not hurt anyone’s feelings in the process.

“Oh, so I’m right, who’s the lucky guy this time? Anyone I’d recognize?”

“He’s from here if you can believe it. He works in plant—a supervisor if you’re ready to believe that. I met him in line at the bank. And as for your recognizing him, he’s the tall guy with the short brown ponytail and nice ass. I think I’ve kind of been swept off my feet.”

“Well, you deserve it. Think you want to keep this one around? I’d like to be Auntie Dacy to your kids, if you’re ready, that is.”

“I don’t know,” she says dreamily, “But I don’t think I’d mind with this one. Not only is he hot, but he’s also nice. I’ve got to introduce you, maybe he has some friends. You really ought to get away from Rick, you know.”

“You may be right, but now’s not the time for that. The band is breaking up, and he’s not taking it well. I have a feeling I’m going to be needed.” I don’t say anything else, not about my suspicions anyway.

The phone rings as I walk in the door of my apartment. I pick it up and I hear Robbie say, “Dacy?”

“Yes, what is it Robbie? Is everything all right?”

“No, it’s not, it’s Rick, I think you should come down here.”

“I just got home, can’t Elizabeth take care of this?”

“You don’t get it, she’s an addict too. Get down here and see if you can convince Rick to lie down and sleep off his high. He won’t listen to us, he might listen to you.”

“Right,” I want to slam the phone down. I just got home from my first day back at work and I’m tired. “What did he take?” I ask wearily.

“Don’t you know? He’s had a heroin habit for years, how did you not know?”

Because if I suspected early on I wouldn’t have gotten involved with him. Because he was successful at keeping it from me up until now. Because even though there is a lot of heroin in this town I don’t know much about it because I don’t want to.

“All right, all right, I’ll come to the studio, but you’ve got to help me. This was my first day back at work and I’m dead tired. I don’t want to be dragged into this, Geordie, but I’ll do this for him, just this once but never again.”


	18. Your Saving Grace

I’m tired, I don’t want to do this—all I want to do is go to bed. I’m too exhausted to enjoy the drive to the studio, something I usually love no matter what the time of day. I hate Robbie for calling me, for not handling this himself, or enlisting the aid of someone at the studio.

Most of all, I hate the way I feel like an idiot for not realizing Rick had a heroin habit. I know a few people who use it but not personally. I stay away from it, it’s one of the few drugs that I believe all the bad things I’ve been told.

Addictions are hard to shake. Alcoholics relapse, heroin addicts relapse then they have to fight to end their addiction all over again. Maybe I’m addicted to marijuana, but I look at cigarette smokers and realize they have it worse than I do. I don’t like going without weed—I missed it in the hospital—but I can go without weed a lot easier than people can go without tobacco.

When I get to the studio I sit in the car a few minutes before I go in. I’m sore and tired from my long day, and it’s going to take a while to get back to my routine. I seriously consider turning around and leaving and letting Robbie take care of this mess, but I have the feeling he made the right call asking me to help—if I can.

He’s waiting for me at the door. “Thank god you’ve come, Dacy, we can’t get him to settle down. Whatever he got hold of, it’s stronger than what he’s used to. We managed to get his bass away from him and put it away, but he’s insisting he’s fine. Then he started asking for you. See what you can do with him, please?”

“Fine, but don’t you dare do this to me again. This was my first day back at work and I’m exhausted. All I wanted to do was smoke a joint and drink a glass of wine, then go to bed. I’m not up to this, I should be at home. Why didn’t you call Elizabeth?”

“Because she’s probably fucked up too. Heroin can be a shared addiction, or didn’t you know?”

I told him a long time ago the most serious drug I do is cocaine and that’s only as a treat. I don’t know if I have an addictive personality, but I don’t want to find out. Heroin scares me, and now that I know he’s an addict, he’s scaring me a little too. Damn, why can’t I fall in love with someone who doesn’t have problems?

He led me into the “live” room where Rick sat in the corner, his eyes barely open and a goofy smile on his face.

“Look who’s here,” he mumbled, stumbling over the words, “What are you doing here?”

I take a deep breath, then exhale, mustering my courage and praying for patience. “You asked for me, or don’t you remember? What are you on, anyway? I’ve never seen you this fucked up before.”

“Some really good shit,” he smiled, “You wanna try some?”

“Fuck no,” I answer, the words coming easily, “I don’t touch that shit, ever, remember?”

He doesn’t answer, but he knows. I realize the only reason he probably hasn’t passed out is that they’ve probably been doing speed while they were rehearsing. ‘Fat girl pills’ as they call them. He probably used the heroin to come down not realizing just what he’d gotten hold of.

The problem with scoring drugs like heroin is you never know what you’re getting. Occasionally a really strong batch will come around and just doing the amount you’re used to can kill you. That’s what happened to Janis Joplin. I think Rick’s scored something stronger than he expected and he doesn’t realize just how it’s affecting him yet.

I’m guessing he’s snorted it or smoked it. I know every damn inch of his body and I’ve never seen anything on him that even resembled a needle mark. Maybe he thinks if he doesn’t use the needle he won’t wind up with a habit, though he probably knows it’s a bunch of crap.

“Hey sweetie,” I tell him, “You’re about to pass out, why don’t you let me help you into one of the bedrooms so you can sleep it off?”

“No I’m not,” his speech is getting worse and he tries to stand up then drops back into his chair. “Oops,” he says and smiles, but it’s not a smile I’ve seen before.

“You know I’m smarter than that,” I say, “If I tell you you need to go lay down you know I’m not bullshitting you, right?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, then says, “You’ll come with me, right?”

Only until I know you’re out and I can go home, I think but I tell him, “Yes, I’ll come with you, and stay with you. You sleep this off then you’ll be fine to drive home in the morning. Will you do this for me, Ricky, please?”

Two of the engineers have appeared and I whisper, “Careful,” to them as they assist in getting him up and walk him to the nearest bedroom. I take off his boots and his belt and pull a blanket over him and start to leave but he pats the bed next to him.

I sigh and take off my shoes and crawl in next to him. I’m so tired I don’t even resist when he starts to fondle my breasts but he’s too out of it to try anything more.

I don’t know which of us passed out first, but my watch reads 6 a.m. when Robbie opens the door and asks if I'm all right. I wasn't sure how nice I was feeling. Part of me wanted to go back home and go to bed, but food was sounding awfully good so I told him yes.

He took me to a little café not far from the studio that had good food. He ordered breakfast for us, eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, coffee and two big glasses of orange juice. It wasn’t until I started eating that I realized I was ravenously hungry and for a few minutes all we did was eat and consume coffee.

“I’m sorry I called you,” he said out of the blue, “But I think I did the right thing. I want you to know I love those guys, all of them, but Dacy, I’m tired. I feel like I’ve been carrying them for a long time and I’m no longer up to the burden. I know this sounds harsh, but my marriage is in shambles, and I’m worried about how this will affect my kids.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” I reply, “but I’m worried about Rick. I think this is going to affect him in a way that it won’t affect the others. I’m sounding disloyal, but I’m afraid that he needs direction from a stronger personality. And now that I know about the heroin…” I sighed and left the rest of the sentence hanging.

He looked me in the eyes as he took a swig of coffee. “I think you’ve been good for him, but he’s not been good for you. He’s one of the sweetest guys you’ll ever meet, but he’s an addict with all the baggage that goes along with it. It’s been a year and he hasn’t managed to embroil you in his habit, so that’s good. Maybe you could resist, but his girlfriend couldn’t.”

“I knew someone that happened to. An ex-lover of mine. I stopped seeing him when I saw him shoot up in my roommate’s bathroom. The girl he hooked up with eventually was a real sweetheart, I knew her brother from school. Anyway, she wound up getting hooked too and they lost their kid for a while. I’ve never, ever, wanted something like that to happen to me.”

“Well, don’t let it. Don’t get into it. Set some rules and boundaries for yourself and make him respect them. If I wasn’t married, I’d like to see how it would work between us. You take care of yourself and don’t let taking care of him burn you out. He loves you, you know, a lot. He thinks you’re one of the best things that ever happened to him. He only has felt that way about one other person, his girlfriend.”

“Well, I don’t want to be in her shoes. I like my relationship with him the way it is. I don’t want the baggage that would go with him. We love each other, but we’re two different people. And now that I know about the heroin, I don’t mind letting her have responsibility for him. It’s enough for me to just take care of me.”

When we finished eating, Geordie paid the bill and drove back to the studio. He parked next to my car, looking at me for a moment, then took me in his arms.

I didn’t resist, when he kissed me I kissed him back. We hold each other for a minutes in each other’s arms, then pulled back at the same time. There were tears in his eyes which I didn’t expect and it made me want to cry—but I didn’t.

He got out and opened my door. “Take care of yourself, Dacy,” he said and walked back into the studio.


	19. The Going out of Business Sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick apologizes for his "condition" and offers Dacy a peace offering. He convinces her to come to the studio that night. For courage and an easy exit strategy she brings Gina with her. Rick's girlfriend shows up unexpectedly at the studio but Dacy is lucky for she doesn't see her

It was a week before I heard from Rick, which was just as well because I didn’t know how I felt about him, or Robbie for that matter.

Robbie had surprised me, with his confession as well as his kiss. Even with the revelation of Rick’s heroin problem, I wouldn’t have traded Robbie for him. I love Rick, he’s been my friend and protector as well as my lover. I am deeply attracted to him, he’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met, as well as the most flawed.

It took a lot of nerve for him to show up a week later. He must have known I wouldn’t be happy. I don’t even know how much of that night he remembered, it was probably better if he’d forgotten. But since I don’t know how heroin affects him, I don’t what he knows.

It was almost six in the morning when he came in and woke me. He opened my bedroom door and knocked then said, “Hi, are you speaking to me.”

I struggle to a sitting position and shake my hair away from my face. (I wish I’d cut off a few more inches.) I don’t sleep in anything, and when he looks at me I can see the lust in his eyes though he doesn’t make a move.

“Would you come to the studio tonight?” he asks tentatively.

“I thought you guys were rehearsing for the ‘going out of business sale’,” I say bitterly, remembering that Robbie is breaking the band, “Won’t I be in the way?”

“When are you ever in the way?” he asks and looks at the bed before he sits down. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened but…”

“Did you get rid of it?” I interrupt.

He says nothing. I don’t know what to say, so I say what’s on my mind. It isn’t going to hurt now.

“Do you ever think about going to detox? You and Richard should go together. You’re going to pay for this, you’re not going to see old bones. Don’t you want to see your kids grow up, and your grandkids? I don’t want to know how it started but you can make the choice to stop. It’s not going to be easy, and you might even relapse a few times but you’re young, you have a chance of succeeding.”

“Now’s not the time,” he said, “There’s too much going on.”

“Yes, I know,” I interrupt and I do. He’s scared, the future is uncertain. He’s about to lose his income and a big part of his life. They’ve played together for almost twenty years, they practically grew up together.

I’m angry at Robbie but after seeing Rick hopped up on junk I can almost sympathize. I know that Rick, and at least two others, can be undependable, which I don’t understand. Maybe that’s part of being a professional musician since you were very young. You have to be responsible and show up for your gigs, but you’re surrounded by a lot of temptation and the younger you are the harder it is to resist.

Robbie told me that heroin scared him, I feel the same way. I feel guilty when I do coke, but I will do it if it’s offered. But the harder stuff? No way.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a box. “I know I can’t buy my way out of what I did.”

“No, you can’t,” I retort, “You have to prove to me that I can trust you.”

He reaches out and strokes my hair, “You told me when we met you wanted honesty from me. I won’t make any promises to you that I can’t keep, I owe you that much.” He handed me the box, “I saw you eying this.”

How had he known? It was a little diamond star on a white gold chain that I’d seen in a jewelry store window a few months ago. I dangled it from my fingers and turned on the light so I could see the reflections from the cut of the diamond.

I should give it back to him, I know this, but I undo the clasp and he lifts my hair so I can fasten it around my neck.

“I love it,” I whisper and we smile at each other, “This sort of gets you ought of trouble, but I need for you to think about detox. I’m so worried about you.”

“I know, I know, but come to the studio. Neil’s going to be there, and Eric’s finally arrived. Butter will be there and he’s promised to be on his best behavior. Robbie’s looking forward to seeing you, too.”

I wince when he says Robbie’s name but fortunately, he doesn’t notice. “Please,” he says, and I nod. He kisses me and I lay back on the pillow, cursing myself for being so in love with him that I abandon all good sense.

He sits next to me on the bed and begins kissing me. Soon his clothes are in a pile on the floor even though it’s getting late. After we finish making love he looks at the clock and sits up.

“Oh god, it’s seven. I gotta get going.”

“Yes, whatever were you thinking? I tease, “It’s sunup and you should have been home an hour ago. And I’m going to have trouble going back to sleep if I get any sleep at all. I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep at the studio.”

“Oh, we can take care of that,” he pulls on his boots. “It’s going to be like a candy store with Eric and Harp coming. He leans over and kisses me, “Make sure you show up, you’re expected.”

“You look terrible,” says Gina, “Did he show up again? I thought you’d tell him to get lost.”

“But he gives me such nice makeup presents,” I lean over so she can see the diamond star against my skin.”

“Wow, that looks expensive.” And she’s right. I went to a jeweler before work to find out what he might have paid for it. Not a nice thing to do, I know, but I want to make sure I’m not being bought for cheap.

“He wants me to come to the studio tonight. I told him I can’t stay long because I’ll be too tired. If you’re with me we can leave and he won’t be able to find a way to put me in one of the bedrooms so he can have his way with me. He had enough of me this morning!”

We giggle and the supervisor glares at us. If we weren’t so good at what we do we’d constantly be in trouble.

“He told me Eric’s going to be there, he likes you, you know. He’s asked me about you the last time I saw him.”

Yes, it’s true, Eric Clapton has a thing for her. Not a ‘get married and live happily forever kind of thing’, but he likes pretty blonds. I like Eric, too, but like the others, he has a drug and alcohol problem. He’s fun to party with until he gets too wasted. He’s the first one to arrive at the party and the last one to leave. I like Eric very much but I wouldn’t wish him on anyone.

Gina knows this, but Eric is one of those guys who is good looking and doesn’t know it. She looks at me and I know she’s hooked. She’ll go with me because she knows I don’t want to go alone.

“As long as I can fix my face and change clothes before we go. You might want to cover the shadows under your eyes. Damn him, Dacy, he knows he’s got you hooked and he’s no good for you.”

I agree.

I haven’t gone out with her in a long time, and it’s nice to be “Dacy and Gina” again. We make a cute pair: she’s wearing a white peasant blouse and red mini skirt and me in a black blouse embroidered with red roses and jeans. When we walk into the studio, the engineers do a double-take when they see Gina. It’s all right, you’d have to be blind not to notice how beautiful she is.

“They’re in the live room,” one of the engineers tell us, and when we enter all eyes, except for Rick’s are on her. Eric comes over and kisses her hand.

“I’m Eric,” he says and she answers, “I know,” and they laugh. He’s eying her up and down in a way that would embarrass anyone but her. She looks him straight in the eye and gives him the smile that few men can resist.

Rick comes over and hugs me. He’s not immune to Gina, but it’s me that he’s interested in, not her. The other guys stand around, amused. I can see that Woody has made it, and if I were Gina I’d set my cap at him, not Eric. I like Eric, he’s a nice guy—except for the alcohol and heroin. He’s turned excess into an art and I wouldn’t get into a car with him unless I was driving.

“We’re taking a break,” announces Richard, “Refreshments are in the bar.” I know what he means and it makes me sad. His is a sad story all around and every dealer in the vicinity is eager to help make him forget. He isn’t tolerating alcohol as well as he used to, but that’s not stopped him from drinking. He’s sweet, though, and his girlfriend sticks by him. I wonder what that says about me.

Rick tugs on my hand and we slip off to one of the bedrooms while the others go to get the party favors. We canoodle a little then as he starts to remove my blouse someone knocks at the door.

“What is it?” he asks as he pulls my shirt over my head.

“There’s someone here to see you, man,” says Butter.

“Tell them I’m busy, I’ll see them later,” barely hiding the irritation in his voice.

“No man, you don’t get it, it’s Elizabeth and her sister.”

“Fuck,” we say at the same time and I pull my shirt back over my head.


	20. In Flagrante Delicto--Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Eric sneak Dacy and Gina out of the studio before Rick's girlfriend can spot her. Since it's too early and they don't feel like going home, they head to the Whisky A-Go-Go, the most popular bar in LA

I was in the middle of my worst nightmare, yet a part of me seemed to have stepped away from my body because I felt unnaturally calm, almost numb. I looked at Rick and he seemed to have a calculating look on his face, not panic. Was this situation not unusual for him, but déjà vu all over again as Yogi Berra would say?

“Can I get out unseen through the live room or will she see me?” I was surprised to find words coming out of my mouth. My heart is beating so hard that my chest hurts, and now I’m getting close to being on the verge of tears.

“Yes, I think so, let’s get you out of here.” He sees I’m upset and he’s trying to soothe me. He puts his arm around my waist and starts leading me to the door that led to the beach. “Eric can give Gina a ride home.”

“Just a minute. You need to get Gina so she can ride home with me.”

“What’s wrong with Eric driving her?”

“He’s half-drunk, that’s why. He’s his usually charming self but I wouldn’t trust him behind the wheel, especially with my best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You’re my second best friend. I like Eric but I don’t like the way he drinks. Gina’s better off coming home with me. It’s safer, anyway.” I’m going to need someone to talk to, I don’t want to drive home alone.

We’d reached the cool sand and I pulled off my shoes so I could feel the sand between my toes. “Will you get her and bring her to my car, please?”

“Sure,” he put his arms around my waist and kissed me, “I’m sorry about what happened, this caught me by surprise. She doesn’t come to the studio that often, and I usually know when to expect her.”

“Maybe she has her suspicions,” I said darkly, “And she came to check on you. I can’t imagine anyone not liking you but maybe someone talked. I was scared, I am scared, Rick. I’ve had nightmares about this”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, “I don’t think anyone said anything to her but I don’t blame you for being scared.” He kissed me then headed back into the studio to fetch Gina.

I went to my car and unlocked the doors. I’ve never been a smoker, but right now I’d love a drink and a cigarette. Fortunately, Rick returned shortly with Eric and Gina. Eric had his arm around Gina’s shoulders and a happy smile on his face. He murmured something in her ear then went back to the studio, and Rick came to me and took me in his arms.

The tension melted away at his touch. I didn’t know where we’d go from here, but being in his arms reassured me.

“Drive careful,” he said then turned and caught up with Eric.

Gina got into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. “Well, I didn’t expect this kind of excitement, I was just looking to seduce Eric Clapton. I gave him my number, wonder if he’ll call?”

This was said this so nonchalantly that it made me laugh. “Do you want him to call?”

“Well, don’t you think he’d want to call?” she said innocently.

I burst into laughter. I knew exactly what she was doing—trying to laugh the tension out of me, which was exactly what I needed. The last thing I had wanted—ever—was a run-in with Rick’s girlfriend. Now that it happened I had survived.

“You know, he acted kind of strange, like he had contingency plans for this sort of thing. Me, I was in a panic but trying to keep my cool, like hysterics wasn’t going to solve anything. I thought he’d be a little, well, panicky. He wasn’t happy about it but I expected him to be more upset.”

“That was strange,” Gina replied, “I mean, keeping his head is a good thing but he seemed almost too cool about it. Like, it was obvious he didn’t expect her but he didn’t seem upset, I would have almost lost my cool.”

“Me, too, and that’s what bothers me. What did he say to you and Eric?”

“That his girlfriend was here and that I needed to leave so I could ride home with you. He seemed to have it under control, which was kind of weird. Do you think he’s done this more than once?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know, I don’t want to know. Let’s find a bar somewhere, or maybe go to the ’Whisky”, I am not in the mood to go home.”

“Let’s go to the Whisky, then, someone good might be playing there. You need a night out.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

“He needs a night out, too.” She said mischievously.

I wish I could talk to Robbie, I need this explained to me. He and Rick and have been playing together since they were seventeen. I’d been caught badly off guard, I’d tried so hard to avoid Elizabeth. I didn’t want her to be part of my relationship with Rick, I’d done my best to keep her out of it and he’d accommodated me as best he could.

Up until now, there had been a kind of innocence to our relationship, but her appearance at the studio had shattered it. I had felt safe, now I felt safe no longer. We’d had a close call and I don’t like close calls, not at all.

The “Whisky” is crowded which is just what we want. The Whisk-a-Go-Go is the place to be in LA, popular not only the “for Beautiful People” but the rest of us too. No matter what the day of the week, you’ll find loud music and a crowded dance floor, just what a club should have.

The Doors got their start here, amongst others. Music execs wander through the crowd, buying the prettiest girls drinks for the privilege of being on their arm. I never thought I would get used to something like this, but I love the Whisky.

Gina and I stand off to the side of the stage, listening to the band. Whoever they are, they are pretty good and maybe we’ll stay for their second set. They finish and say what all musicians say as they get ready to take their break:

“We’re gonna take a short break now, but when we come back, we’ll play you our new song.” Or some variation on that.

My glass is empty and I go back to the bar for a refill. I’m about to take out my wallet when I hear a voice say”

“I’ll cover it.”

I look over and see a good looking guy, taller than Rick with well-styled blond hair. It’s the lead guitar player and he’s smiling at me.

I know that smile well. “Thanks,” I say, “You guys are really good, how long have you been playing together?” which is the right thing to say to a musician. I could have complimented his guitar playing and made his night.

“Oh, since we were in high school, we started out as a garage band.” He had a very nice smile and was attempting to use it on me. I’m not so sure I felt immune. “We’re off after we play our second set, thirty minutes or so. What are you doing tonight?” Can I fuck you? That’s what he means and I don’t know if I feel like saying no.

“Oh, my friend and I will hang around, she’s the cute blond at the end of the bar.” Gina smiles and waves. “I like the Whisky, you never know what’s going to happen, or who you’re going to meet.”

I can’t take him home and I know it, Rick has a key and the last thing I want is for him to walk in on me with another guy. But, I’m enjoying the attention of this really cute guy who doesn’t want anything from me outside of a little fun and I think I need fun.

We banter a little, then it’s time for him to go back on stage. They are really good, and I hope they break out of being a local band. The lead guitarist is also the lead singer and he looks at me almost the whole time he’s playing.

“What do you think?” says Gina softly as she slips her hand into mine.

“I think I’ll go home with him after I drop you off, and if he doesn’t want to take me to his place he’s going to miss out. Rick has a key to my place and always lets himself in. The last thing I want to happen is Rick walking in on me with another man.”

“Not like he wouldn’t deserve it. Putting you in a situation where you nearly got caught by his girlfriend. Not nice at all, I saw how upset you were.”

“Let’s leave now, Gigi, he’ll find another girl to pick up. I’ve had a good time here, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still upset. It’s late, let’s go home.”

I was standing at the bathroom sink washing off my makeup when I heard the door open and shut. Soon he was standing behind me, holding onto me, whispering that he was sorry.


	21. Today is Your Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dacy's birthday and Rick has planned a surprise

She knows about me. I know she knows. He’s not ready to admit it but somehow she found out.

It was she who walked into my hospital room, it wasn’t someone who wandered into the wrong room because they were confused. It was deliberate. She wanted to see who I was.

He made love to me that night then left. I think he wanted me for reassurance. We both were caught off guard and now we exercise more caution than we did before. Not that we haven’t tried to be careful.

He has an uncanny ability to put unpleasant things out of his mind, which I am not so good at. He won’t admit he’s worried but he sees me more often at my apartment now and not so much at the studio. If I don’t see as much of him as I’d like, but I understand. They’re rehearsing for the show, learning about 20 new songs. Artists are coming and going and he’s working harder, they’re all working harder. This will be their last show together, after all.

He doesn’t forget my 24th birthday. I found a message on my answering machine after I returned from my run. “Your mission is to go directly to the studio after you get off work. This message will now self-destruct.” He made a series of noises trying to simulate a tape exploding and I burst into laughter. He’s so funny.

“So, Gina, are you going to come with me?” I ask. I don’t want to go alone for some reason.

“No, thank you. They’ll probably stuff a bunch of coke up your nose and get you drunk. Also, I bet Rick will have some sort of mischief planned and you’ll try to use me to get you out of it. No, thank you.”

I get to the studio and it looks dark from the outside but I recognize everyone’s cars. I walk in and the lights suddenly come on, almost blinding me for a second.

“Surprise!” they yell and there’s a cake on a table, balloons, and brightly wrapped presents, along with bottles of champagne and the inevitable lines of coke.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” Rick says and hugs me, but then he drags me to a chair, unzips my jeans and pushes my panties down to my ankles.

He wrestles me over his knee—to the cheering and laughter of his buddies. “No birthday without a birthday spanking,” he says and starts smacking me as they all count in unison up to 24. He then adds the traditional pinch, then lets me up, helping me pull up my pants.

I’m embarrassed and angry but also unexpectedly turned on. I’m on the verge of tears but decide to be a good sport. No point in arguing, it’s over now and I can’t do a thing about it. I know he thinks it’s no big deal, no, he thinks it’s funny. I’ll make him pay for it later, though I have yet to figure out how.

After he was done he lifted me up and whispered, “Wait until I get you alone,” and smiles at me. God, that smile makes me weak in my knees and he uses it on me like a weapon.

I must admit, the presents are nice. A tennis bracelet from him, a pair of pearl earrings from Levon, a nice pearl hanging from a gold chain from Robbie are the ones that stand out. I am definitely pleased and I am ready to forgive them for laughing at me while Rick paddled my bottom. They play me a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” and I successfully blow out all 24 candles. Rick pops the cork on a bottle of champagne and after we finish it, I decide it’s time to go home.

He walks me out to my car, opens the door and kisses me, “I’ll come to your place when we’re done.”

“Do you think you should be allowed to after that little stunt you pulled? Did you have to pants me in front of everyone?”

He laughs, “You could have had it a lot worse. Those are all your friends, besides, this is the first birthday I’ve celebrated with you, and I want to end it the right way.” I get the smile again, that impish, devilish little boy smile.

At the moment I’ve had enough champagne and coke that I find no reason to disagree. Our time together lately is precious. Rehearsals are taking up a lot of his time, and since its summer his kids are here. I know that he is literally finding time to fit me in, and I appreciate it very much.

I’m thinking about the party on the way home. I think it was as much to lighten things up as it was to celebrate my birthday. Things are getting serious. There is a sense of finality every time they get together to rehearse. I can feel the mood in the room when I’m there and it’s not a happy feeling.

Rick has played with these guys since he was seventeen, he’s thirty-three now, that’s almost half his life. I’m angry at Robbie but after talking to him I understand. There is a lot of alcohol and drugs going around and if Rick is guilty of overindulging, he’s not the only one. I think Robbie sees it and he’s trying hard to step away from it.

I know he hates touring but he forgets that’s how the rest of the band makes their money. He gets the royalty from the songwriting because he writes the songs—most of them anyway. I’m wondering how much Rick, or any of the others, has saved? I don’t know how much heroin Rick is using, but a heroin habit isn’t cheap. I heard from Levon that there are a lot of hangers-on who make their way to his house just for the heroin.

I’m proud that I take care of myself. I’ve never asked him for help but he’d say yes if I did. He buys me nice presents—the tennis bracelet he bought me couldn’t have been cheap—but I think that comes from guilt sometimes. He’s staying with his girlfriend and we both know it, but he wants me too. And me, I love him to death.

I get home and put my presents away. I take a shower and wash my hair, then throw on jeans and a tee-shirt. I don’t know what time he’ll be here, but he will.

It’s about three when he lets himself in. I’m still awake, I’ve had enough coke that I’ll probably be up until late.

He hands me a box, saying, “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” He does not apologize for the spanking.

I open it and see “Fredericks of Hollywood” on the box lid. Oh boy, what am I in for? Inside is a skimpy, sheer black nighty, with barely-there lace-trimmed black panties.

“Put it on,” he says and I head for the bedroom but he grabs my arm. “No,” he says, shaking his head, “I want to watch.”

I pull off my tee shirt and my jeans, then pull the nighty over my head. I draw on the panties which are barely covering my buttocks.

“I did good,” he says and whistles, “I almost chose red but black suits you better. He pulls me onto his lap, “And now I get to remove it.”

It’s almost sunrise when he leaves. I am starting to understand part of my purpose. I know his girlfriend is there to support him, but he needs more than here. He’s scared for his future, and he clings to me for reassurance. He wants to be taken care of and that’s a part of him I don’t like but I understand. I try to be supportive but I won’t baby him.

What’s he going to do without the band? He’s looking around for a recording contract, but even if he finds a label, can he make an album that will sell? Someone could snatch him up on the basis of who he is, but if he doesn’t make them enough money they’ll just spit him out.

I could actually start to hate this business. It’s cut-throat and all the producers want is to make a bunch of money no matter what it takes out of the artist. I’m having bad feelings about his future. I want him to be successful to have hits and sell a lot of records but I’m feeling like it won’t happen. It’s like there’s a cloud over his head and he’s facing a future with no guarantees.

I hate myself for feeling this way. I’m tempted to find a really good tarot reader and find out what is in his cards. I haven’t yet, because I’m afraid of being right. I wish I didn’t have this “gift” because it’s not a gift, it’s a curse and I can’t let him know my fears for him, not ever.


	22. I Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band's last concert has been set for Halloween. Rick sends Dacy a VIP pass, plane tickets, and confirmation of hotel reservations. In the meantime, she's sure that someone is watching her and she may not be wrong

They’ve decided to hold their final concert on Halloween night. Though it was already scheduled and most of the tickets sold things have changed. Either ticket holders will have to shell out more money or lose their tickets. The new price for admission is now more than twice the original fee.

Their hardcore fans are not discouraged, but pony up the extra money. News that this concert will be more than a mere performance, but an all-out party, results in a flood of new ticket sales. Soon the event is announced as sold out. I wonder how many people wished they’d forked over the extra money.

To encourage people to come in costume there will be a contest with cash prizes. The guests, as they are calling them, will be served finger foods like ribs, spring rolls, shrimp, and of course, there will be Halloween treats. A huge fountain will serve drinks—non-alcoholic of course, the guests will have to sneak their own into the venue.

No one in the band is really happy, except for maybe Geordie. He sees their going out as one big party like it’s something to celebrate. I think he is the only one celebrating. The rest of them are trying to treat it like just another show although they all know better. There’s a finality in the air that no one can avoid.

I’d just gotten up one day when someone knocked at my door. I opened it to find a courier standing there holding a big box which I had to sign for. I scribbled my name and he handed it to me, tipping his hat as I shut the door behind him.

I tore off the wrapping to find a box labeled “Nordstrom”. I opened it to find a VIP backstage past on a gold ribbon with my name written on it. With it I find two business-sized envelopes, one holds airline tickets and the other the reservation and confirmation of a hotel room at one of San Francisco’s finest. I wonder if he’s staying in the same place or had put me up elsewhere as a precaution.

Underneath was a black jersey dress with cutouts along the long sleeves. The same cutout pattern decorated an open back. Hidden in the folds of the dress was a necklace and earrings of tiny silver spider webs and spiders.

I read the note that lay on top of the dress. “Find yourself a cute witch’s hat. You’ll be the sweetest looking witch at the party.” I don’t know about that but the hem is short enough to draw attention to my legs. If he wants me to be ignored he’d chosen the wrong costume.

I love the dress but this whole thing made me sick, it’s nothing but a farce that will make a great party for the attendees. Bill Graham’s milking it for all it’s worth, but who could blame him? They’ve always been one of his biggest drawing acts. He’d promoted their very first concert in the same venue where they’ll be performing their last. It looks like they are going out with a bang, but if you listen closely enough, it's actually a whimper.

I notice the car a week later. It’s an older model Camaro with black lacquer paint that reflects the light of the sun. It doesn’t seem to belong in the neighborhood, we all knew each other’s cars. After all, we take for granted that we looked out for one another.

It's gone by the time I leave for work so I don’t pay much attention until a couple of days later. I'm getting ready to go for a run and see the shiny black Camaro pull up and park near my building. What piques my curiosity is the fact that the driver doesn’t get out but sits in the car and doesn't get out.

Rick showed up that night—at his usual 3 a.m. and wanted me to try on my dress. He tried to cajole me into modeling it for him, but I refuse at first, saying,

“It’s bad luck to see the dress before the date—or something like that. Anyway, I want to surprise you.”

“I already know what the dress looks like, I bought it for you! I want to see it on you, now, and don’t bother with any underwear.”

“Oh, so you’re going to go all male chauvinist on me? Is that an order, sir?” He ignored my mocking tone.

“Yes, it’s an order—especially the no underwear part.” He wriggled his brows as if to emphasize what he was saying.

I hadn’t tried the dress on yet. The jersey felt erotic sliding over my bare skin and I’ve always looked good in black. I came out to the living room and turned around slowly to he could see me.

“You likee?” I fluttered my lashes at him then came and sat on his lap.

“Oh yeah,” he breathed, “Almost as much as I like that nightie. You’re going to make a very sexy witch on Halloween night.” He begins to roll up the dress above my waist and soon I forget that

I wanted to tell him about the car--I had no desire to spoil the mood. Part of the reason he’s here must be a desire to see the dress on me because he should be at the studio rehearsing. We’ve had so little time together lately that we were willing to grab whatever we could.

He had to leave right after we made love. I wanted to complain, beg him to stay a little longer but I knew better so I kissed him obediently goodnight and saw him out the door.

The car was back the next morning, so I pulled on shorts, shoes, and tee-shirt and decided to go for a run—past the car.

I stand outside my building and do my stretches—this is going to be a long run because I have some major tension to burn off. I start at a gentle pace down the sidewalk, the way I usually do and when I get to the car try to peer, at first inconspicuously then decide to hell with it. I can see the shadow of the driver, a woman, I think, then go the driver’s side and rap on the window.

At first she ignores me, but I persist and finally, she gives up and rolls the window down.

“What?” she asks somewhat rudely, but I can’t blame her, I’d say the same thing.

“I don’t know what you’re doing sitting here, but you were here and did the same thing yesterday. You don’t look like a cop or a private dick so you don’t belong here.”

I get a good look at her, she’s pretty with a triangular face and a tiny cat chin. She has a mass of long dark curls and dark eyes like mine. I’m being presumptuous thinking that it’s me she’s watching, but I’d put money on it in Vegas.

“You’re not so safe here as you think you are with your tinted glass windows and your locked doors. This is a nice car, a vintage Camaro, and if someone wanted it, all they’d have to do is break the window and pull you out of the car. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Well,” she replies, her voice kind of husky with a bit of New York in it, “What about you and your little tee-shirt and running shorts. How safe are you?”

“This is my neighborhood, I know everyone within a five-block radius. All I’d have to do is scream and at least three guys would come running in an instant. We look after each other. We may not have much money people may think we live in a barrio, but we don’t. My car is nowhere near as expensive and fancy as yours, but if one of my neighbors spied someone prowling it, they’d call the cops, or take care of it themselves.”

She gives me a dirty look and rolls the window up and starts the car. I get quickly out of the way, laughing the whole time, as she peels off. Whoever she was she probably won’t be back again or at least will send a private dick the next time who’s a lot smarter about tailing someone.

I don’t know who she is but I have a feeling she’s been watching me. I don’t know this, of course, but I feel it. I’d give anything to know what Rick’s wife looks like, at the moment anyway. In truth, I don’t really want to know but it’s wise to know your enemies.

I continue with my run until I push the incident out of my mind—for now.


	23. The Last Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the final concert for the band is here, and history is being made

I’ve been backstage at concerts before but I’ve never seen anything like this. “Organized Chaos” are the words that come to mind, it’s crazy.

Celebrities are milling around everywhere. I keep bumping into people that I know: Woodie, Eric, Neil, Butter, and others whose faces I know but have never made their acquaintance. Whether or not Dylan is going to show up and play is still up in the air. After all these years he keeps his mystique and undependability.

Bill Graham has done his best. No one is allowed backstage that doesn’t have a VIP pass. A few groupies have snuck through, but that’s part of the business of rock and roll. What would it be without the girls?

What bothers me is I am forced to see Rick with his wife. He’s stolen a few glances and smiles for me, but she’s there on his arm, wearing little cat ears for Halloween. I have no doubt now that she is the one who was in my hospital room and was checking out my neighborhood but that knowledge is far from reassuring.

She’s prettier than me, but her skinny body possesses almost no breasts. I am curvier than she is and my hair hangs in a long sheet down my back. Hers curls around her face, but we are both dark-haired and dark-eyed. Clearly, Rick favors brunettes, or so I think.

“She may be prettier, but you’re sexier than she is,” someone whispers in my ear and I turn to see Eric standing next to me. “You know, there’s not a man in this room who hasn’t been checking you out.”

I smile, taking comfort from his words for they are exactly what I need to hear. His girlfriend is in London for her photography exhibition so we are both alone for the night. I don’t know what he has in mind, but musicians are not exactly known for their fidelity. I have never considered being unfaithful to Rick—until now—but if Eric is interested, I may spend the night with him and Rick will have nothing to say about it.

The band is waiting to go on and there’s a palpable tension in the air. After tonight this is it, it’s over. No more band, no more brotherhood. I am starting to feel weepy and emotional and it would be easy to break down. I look around the room and I can see that my eyes aren’t the only ones that look a little moist. It’s a very emotional moment, not just for the band but for all of us who have been associated with them. I’m grateful for Eric’s arm around my waist because I’m feeling a little unsteady on my feet.

Bill is running around, trying to control everything. I must say this has been very well thought out and there is nothing haphazard about it. There was a generous buffet for the audience but the spread backstage is first class, no expense spared. The hors d’oeurves are first class, along with meats like ham and salmon. The champagne is Moet et Chandon, but there is also whiskey and beer. The spread looked beautiful but now it’s in chaos, waiting for the aids to clean it up.

The house lights are out and I hear Rick say, “Well, guys, the sooner we go on the sooner we’ll get off,” though it will be hours before that happens. They file out of the room to the stage and we VIP’s are herded to the area they’ve set aside for us, away from the steaming flock. This is it.

Eric stays with me. “I’m not on until the second set,” he says, “I’m here to give you moral support,” and god knows I grateful. I wonder what madness took hold of me when I agreed to come to this concert. I would not have missed this for the world but now I am wondering if I would have been better off down in the audience. Elizabeth and I keep sneaking looks at each other, sizing each other up and I wonder just how much she knows and if she plans to confront Rick.

In the meantime, I am glad I am looking my best. The dress Rick bought for me accentuates my curves and the witch hat I am wearing has red roses around the brim and black netting that falls just below my eyes. I know that I look desirable, and yes, as Eric said, I know that the men have been looking me over and it gives me a tiny thrill. I also know that I looked good in my jogging clothes and Elizabeth must be wondering just what kind of rival I am.

I hear Levon’s voice say, “Good Evening” and they begin to play the opening bars of their first number and the audience goes wild. We VIP’s kind of go wild, too. The atmosphere is electric and you can feel the energy flowing even from where we sit. The band is sounding tighter than they ever have as if they intend to go out in a splash of glory—even one that most had not intended.

We sit, smiling, enjoying the music from the privileged place close to the stage. I have a good view of Rick and every so often he catches my eye and smiles, a smile meant only for me, but he must be smiling for Elizabeth too. I am horribly jealous and even with Eric sitting next to me with his arm protectively around my waist only makes me feel a little better.

They finish their first number to thunderous applause. The crowd is here for them, for the last chance they will have to see them and they want their appreciation to be known. I wonder if anyone besides Robbie really understands what this means. Is this concert a hail mary? A desperation measure? Or is it meant to ease Robbie’s conscience? Or an opportunity to line his pockets?

No matter how they are feeling, when they are on stage they are true professionals They run through their first set without a mistake, then go on to introduce their first “guest”, their mentor from long ago. Without him there would be no band, for he brought them together, taking the best talent from each band that impressed him. He was established and they were young and hungry so each went with stars and visions of success in their eyes. Their mentor was a hard taskmaster, but the result was the group we saw playing on stage.

At last the first stage was over and they took a thirty-minute break. “You’ll have to excuse me,” Eric said as we VIP’s were herded backstage, “I’ll be on stage for the second half. Just ignore Elizabeth, don’t let her bother you. Rick shouldn’t have brought you here, but the damage is done. Do what he probably intended for you, try and have fun. If you go to the party you are going to have to face her anyway, just remember she doesn’t know for sure who you are. She can be a bitch, but she won’t start anything, if she does remember that you can hold your own.”

Backstage civilians and musicians mingle. Performers who had done their sets could have left but stuck around instead. The vibe was so good that no one wants to leave. This is history being made and we all want to be a part of it.

I can see Elizabeth but keep my distance. I talk to people I know and don’t know. To the latter, if they ask who I am, I simply answer that I am an old friend of the band. I’m not, but it distinguishes me from the groupies who made their way backstage in spite of all Bill’s precautions.

Elizabeth excused herself, no doubt for a trip to the ladies’ room where I’d soon have to visit myself and Rick makes his way to my side. He takes my arm and leads me to a secluded corner and kisses me.

“How are you doing? How’s the show?” he asks, “You look wonderful. I’m so glad you made it, it means a lot to me to have you here.” He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me, “I’ve got to go before I’m missed.” Without further ado, he disappeared back into the crowd and I didn’t see him again until the party.

The half-hour up, they went back on stage, slightly tired by fortified by copious amounts of coke. They played another set then the guests took the stage, the band acting as backup. Eric smiles at me as he takes the stage, “Are you hanging in there?” his eyes seemed to say. He stayed on through Muddy Waters and Paul Butterfield, then thankfully left so he could get off his feet. The alcohol was calling him as it did these days, he drank way too much though tonight he seemed to exert a kind of mild moderation. 

He found me in the crowd of VIP’s and took his place by my side and we stayed there through the encore, then the next encore, then the next. The audience didn’t want to leave so they didn’t. It was almost two in the morning before the band played their last number and left the stage for good.

“Are you up for the party?” Eric asks me although he must know that I have to go, Rick expects me. I put on a brave face and nod, knowing there is no graceful way out of it.


	24. Slow Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy decides it's time to leave the party and get away from Rick and Elizabeth, but not before she gets advice from Eric and Robbie

I'm tired of this party and I want to leave, everyone but me it seems is having a good time. I've had enough, I'm tired and I want to go to my hotel so I can go to bed.

The Mikayo Hotel is in Japan Town and was built to attract the Nihon-jin who have migrated to San Francisco. Some of the rooms are really spectacular with saunas and Japanese style bathtubs. I wouldn't mind staying here sometime but not tonight, definitely not tonight.

The banquet room they've rented is big but not so big that I can avoid seeing Elizabeth trying to check me out without my knowing it. She's not having much success because I manage to catch her eye more than once and now I hope she's given up.

Rick is trying to look at me without her knowing and if it weren't so awful this whole thing might be funny. But what's not funny is that it hurts to see him with her. I knew that I would have to deal with this, but I overestimated myself, I thought I would be okay.

Eric comes over to check on me, "How are you doing?" he asks me, you can translate that to "are you all right?"

"I've had enough, I'm leaving," I tell him, and I flag down one of the kimono-clad waitresses.

"Is there someone here who can call a cab for me or can I hail one on the street? I think I'd like to leave."

She looks rather surprised, breakfast is going to be served in a couple of hours but I don't care. It’s time for me to leave this party before I start to fall apart—and that is not an option.

"I'll have someone call one for you, it's too late to get one off the street. I'll let you know when it's here." She leaves, walking in the mincing steps required by the confines of her kimono. I was dressed up in one when I visited Japan with my mother, there is no way I'd take a job where I'd have to wear one and walk around.

"Well, if you're going to leave, I will too, I guess," Eric says, "I have a room here but I want to see you to your hotel and make sure you're all right. Why are you leaving, really?"

"Because I'm tired of Elizabeth pretending not to look at me and Rick trying to pretend he's not so she won't catch him. I've had to deal with this all night and I can put a stop to it by getting out of here. I'm tired, it's been a long day and I have to work tomorrow, or rather, I have to work tonight. The concert was great, and if Elizabeth hadn't been here being backstage would have been a lot of fun, but it hasn’t been. I have a nice room at the downtown Hilton and I'm ready to call it a night."

"All right, wait here while I get a few things," he said and disappeared into the crowd.

I sink down into a soft cushioned couch in an isolated corner of the room. I closed my eyes, waiting to hear about my cab when I feel the cushions lower as someone sits down next to me.

I open my eyes, hoping I would find Rick sitting next to me but see Robbie's hazel eyes staring down at me.

"So you're leaving," his words slurred but not badly, whatever he was on, he had consumed less than the others. 

"I might as well, things are getting too uncomfortable here. I'm sure Elizabeth wishes I'd disappear so I'll oblige her. I think my period of anonymity has ended."

"You forget, you ain't her," he says, "That's what he likes about you. You're everything he didn't expect and that caught him off guard. He told me that he's afraid you might leave him and he couldn't stand it if that happened. Personally, I think you should leave him." He stood up and kissed me on the forehead and left me to ponder his words.

Eric returned in a few minutes to fetch me. "Our cab is here, let's get going before I change my mind."

We climb into the back seat of the cab and I lean my head against his shoulder. He's easy to be with, neither of us wants anything but the other's company. He's helped me get through tonight and I appreciate it and am grateful.

When we reach the Hilton he pays the driver and we go to my room. It's on the fourteenth floor and I have a nice view of the city and the bay.

"Got anything to drink?" he asks.

"There's a pint of Johnny Walker in the bathroom, along with glasses. Pour me one too." 

I pull the curtains back so I can look out at the city. San Francisco is beautiful at night, it reminds me of Hong Kong or Seattle. The harbor is surrounded by lights that look like stars against the darkness of the early morning sky. It'll be dawn in a few hours.

Eric comes to my side and hands me a glass with a generous three fingers full of scotch. He puts his arm around my waist with his free hand and asks me what I'm doing.  
"Just looking. It almost reminds me of Seattle, where I'm from. San Francisco at night is almost magical."

He pulls me closer and I rest against him. I don't know if I should be doing what I know I'm about to do. I almost feel guilty, almost, but what do I have to feel guilty about? The man in my life is as good as married and I spend way too many lonely nights. Eric is here and real and I can feel his erection pushing against his jeans. 

"I worry about you," he says, "It's hard being in love with someone who belongs to someone else."

"Was it hard being in love with Pattie when she was still with George? Did you think that you stood a chance? I know that I don't. If I didn't know for an absolute certainty that he loves me, I'd be gone."

"Are you so sure?" he asks me and his lips move against my neck. His beard tickles and it reminds of Rick before he shaved his facial hair. He moves his free hand around my waist and kisses me—and I kiss back. So much for any guilt I'm feeling, I may regret this when I wake up but I'm damned if I'm going to regret it now.

I put down my glass and put my arms around him, he drains his and picks me up and deposits me on the bed.

We wake in the late afternoon, make love and take a shower. It's too late for breakfast, which I'm craving, but we go to Fisherman's Wharf and eat a big lunch at one of the restaurants because we're famished. 

"What time are you leaving?" he asks and I reply:

"I'm taking a late flight, I think it's eleven. My friend Gina, remember her, will pick me up when she gets off work. I have to work tonight, but I'll have a chance to catch up on my rest."

"What do you do?" he asks and since he seems genuinely curious I tell him that I'm a long-distance operator. And yes, I like my job, my hours are good, the pay is decent, and I have a lot more freedom than someone stuck in a nine to five job, which would not suit me at all. 

"Hmm," he says as he leans back and lights a cigarette, "And you met Rick at the studio?"

"Yes, more or less, I met him the week after the opening party and the rest has been history."

"You be careful with him, you could get hurt," his concern is touching, "If you were smart, you'd leave him."

"That's what Robbie said last night, almost word for word. If it weren't for the fact that I'm head over heels in love with him, and the way he treats me I would leave. Maybe someday I'll have to, maybe it won't be by choice. Right now, though, leaving him is impossible. You ought to know about hopeless romances and how addicting they are."

He looks down and smiles, "I know exactly how addicting they are. I didn't think Pattie would ever leave George, but here we are. I don't think Rick is going to leave Elizabeth, though."

"I think you're right, he's not but he seems to want to keep me around. I don't know how long he'll want to keep this up. He doesn't stay away though, Eric, and it keeps me confused. What does he see in me anyway?"

"Ever look in the mirror? You're pretty, you're funny, you're sweet, you're smart, and you're willing to put up with his bullshit. He knows he shouldn't hold onto you the way he does, but he doesn't want anyone else to have you either. You're the forbidden fruit and he's not very good at resisting it because it's way too tempting."

"But you're leaving out the most important part, Eric, he loves me, I know that absolutely. I am more than a convenient fuck, this is love, maybe a twisted love, but it's love."

"Don't you deserve more than this? Don't you deserve someone that wants you and only you? I like Rick, I do, but I don't think he's being fair to you, and I think he knows it."

He took a cab back to the Mikayo. The time he spent with me caused him to miss his checkout time, but I don't think he minded, not much anyway. I'm officially at the Hilton until tomorrow, Rick set it up so I could sleep late and have a place to kill time while I waited for my flight.

I have time to do some running around the city and take a long walk through Golden Gate Park, which I love. I go to the Fillmore store and pick up Grateful Dead tee-shirts for Gina and me, then go to Fisherman's wharf buy some silver jewelry from one of the vendors. I am doing everything I can to not think about last night or what Eric told me.

When Gina picks me up at LAX the first words out of her mouth are, "So how was it?"

"Do you want all of it from the beginning?" I ask and she nods her head.

"Yes, from the beginning, and every detail, if you please, leave nothing out. I want to hear all of it."

"Okay," I sigh, and start from the very beginning as she requested, there's no way she'll let me hold back anyway.


	25. Flying Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is mad at Dacy but she's not apologetic. He releases his album but it's nothing compared to the Last Waltz. It's close to being nothing at all

So now it’s over, there’s no more band, just memories. For the fans who missed it, there will be an album and a movie in a couple of years but in the meantime, they have to wait.

Rick has signed to Arista, which makes me nervous. Clive Davis is busy signing all the “names” he can persuade to come over to his label. Rick is thrilled, he’s writing and recording songs with friends like his brother Terry and Blondie Chaplin. He’ll tour to support his album for the exposure and try to capitalize on his old band association.  
Robbie hated touring but what he neglected to remember is that is how the rest of the band made their money. As principal songwriters he got the royalties, album sales don’t really bring money in, it’s royalties and touring that is how a band makes its living.

I’m nervous about Rick’s album, he’s got to have some really strong songs, with something that will get radio play so it will sell. And working for Clive Davis means you have to produce a product as quickly as you can. I think Rick needs to take the time to develop his songwriting. Once in awhile, he produces something really good, but he got lazy during the band’s years—as they all did—and depended on Robbie to come up with the songs.

I don’t know if he knows about Eric and me. I didn’t think anyone saw us leaving together, I thought we’d just slipped out without being noticed. Rick was busy with Elizabeth so how could he have noticed me leaving anyway unless he noticed that I wasn’t there for breakfast.

He’s working on his album so I know he won’t have much time for me, but it’s been two weeks since the concert and I haven’t heard from him. What makes it worse is I’m suffering from a little bit of guilt.

It’s a full moon and I have to work. I hate working when the moon is full, it brings out the crazies and they all know how to dial “O”. This is the time of the month we all hate working, I’d rather face the insanity of Christmas Eve or Mother’s Day. After talking to the twentieth crazy I wonder what else is going to happen. This is a rough one.  


I come home from work exhausted. I smoke a bit of weed and hit my bed, wanting only to close my eyes and pretend there is no such thing as full moons or crazy people who make my life hell.

I’ve just closed my eyes when I hear the door open and slam shut. The heavy sound of cowboy boots greet my ears as I hear the thunking of footsteps walking through my living room and halt at my bedroom door.

I open my eyes to see Rick standing in the open doorway and I can smell the liquor from my bed. His eyes stare at me through half-open lids and from the expression on his face I know he’s not happy, I have no idea how mad he is, but from the look on his face it looks like I’m in for more full moon trouble.

He walks over to the bed in three strides and grabs my shoulders and pulls me out of bed. He shakes me, saying, “Did you fuck him? Did you really fuck one of my friends?” I can smell his breath and it smells rank. I turn my head away, then turn back to look him straight in his eyes.

I’m going to defend myself. “I slept with my friend—the friend who looked after me all night while you were busy with Elizabeth. I was upset and he wanted to make sure that I was all right. How do you think I felt seeing you and Elizabeth together all night?”

“Well, if it bothered you so much why did you come?” he shouted at me.

“For the same reason you asked me,” I yelled back, “You said you wanted me there and I wanted to be there for you, that’s why. Do you think I would have been there otherwise? I did it for you, Rick.”

I can feel the tears coming and I close my eyes tight because I want to stop them but it’s no use. I’m crying now because I can’t help it and when he sees me he forgets that he’s angry because he’s never seen me cry before. Any tears I shed on his behalf I hide from him but this time it’s no use.

He releases my shoulders and takes me in his arms, “I haven’t been fair with you, I shouldn’t even be with you. You deserve more.”

I won’t tell him that that’s what Robbie and Eric told me, instead I say, “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” I pull away a little from him so I can look at him, “We have something that works, Rick, I don’t know why but it does. I went into this with my eyes open, but once in a while, I may do something that you don’t like. You’re married, you have to remember to give me my space.”

He held me close to him, “I know, I know. If I were going to be fair to you I’d give you up, but I don’t want to. Not yet, anyway, maybe one day I won’t have a choice. I’m sorry, I had no right to be angry, but I’m only human.”

“Me too,” I say and that seems to satisfy him for now. I hope that he’ll go home but he takes me into my bed and I hope that he’s not too drunk to fuck. Or maybe I do hope he’s too drunk.

He passes out after we make love. I hope he doesn’t sleep too long because I don’t know how suspicious Elizabeth is of me. I half expect to hear her knocking, no, pounding, at my door, demanding to be let in or maybe for him to come out and face the music. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen. I fall asleep in spite of the smelly beast in bed next to me and don’t wake until the alcohol wearing off wakes him up about three in the morning.

“Dacy, Dacy,” he says, shaking my shoulder, “I’ve got to go, where’s your aspirin?”

“I’ll get it,” I tell him and stumble naked out of bed. I go into the bathroom and grab some Extra-Strength Excedrin for him. I get a glass of orange out of the fridge then grab one of the large-size vitamin B-Complex to help ease his hangover.

“Here,” I hand it to him, “drink all the juice and take the fucking vitamin so you won’t be so hungover—maybe you’ll get lucky and not be hungover at all. I don’t think you’ll sleep but your headache might not be so bad.”

He is used to me and my remedies, so he doesn’t make a fuss but empties the glass of juice and places it on my bed table. “Are you going to put something on?” he asks.  
“Why?” I retort, “Do you want me to?”

“No, but you’re tempting me and I need to get home.”

“Then leave, I don’t want you to get into trouble.” We look at each other, “Are you going to let me hear any of your new record? You must have some of it finished.”

“You have to wait till it’s done, I want you to hear the whole thing.” He looks at me with those brown eyes and I melt. He’s forgiven me, which is not necessary as I haven’t done anything I need to be forgiven for as far as I am concerned. I’m no longer mad at his neglecting me because I know how hard he’s working. I didn’t like his barging in so drunk but I’ve forgiven that, too.

“I have to go,” he says and kisses me, “I’ll be back when I can take a quick break, or, you can come down to the studio. It’s the same place, you know, even though we’re not officially a band anymore. Once I’m done I’ll have to start the tour and I don’t know how long it will be before I see you.”

“I know,” I say and I do. He’s got to do everything he can to make this work. If the album doesn’t sell he’ll lose his contract and I imagine that would hurt. He’s more sensitive than his happy-go-lucky exterior lets on. You have to really know him to realize he’s more affected by things than it seems.

In spite of my hopes, my fears come to pass. In spite of his hard work, in spite of the touring, the album sells 3300 copies and only charts at 119. Arista cancels his contract but holds onto the music he’d been working on. He’ll get it back—eventually—but it might take years. He’s decided to produce his records independently so no label can do that to him again.

To add insult to injury, the “Last Waltz” album is selling well, though some critics are snarky, and the movie is making money. This is what I wanted for him, success so he knows he can make it on his own.

I’m afraid for him. He’s putting on a front but I know him well enough to know he’s covering his worries. He won’t let on for me that things might not be okay. Me, I’m afraid for his future, his heroin habit and living in Malibu is draining a lot of his money. The hangers-on won’t leave him alone and I don’t know why Elizabeth won’t chase them off because I know I would. It’s not looking good.

He needs the band back.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Rick goes out on tour Dacy has a pregnancy scare, only to discover it is something much worse

Rick came back from the tour, all ADHD bounce and enthusiasm. The crowds were enthusiastic and receptive so the shows had gone well.

I knew how important this would be to him. He’d told me once that the stage was the only place where he truly felt safe. I thought that rather odd, it seemed to me he should feel safe when he was with Elizabeth and the kids, or with me. I didn’t press him for details, but I wondered if he truly meant that.

I had another trying night at work, one of those where I wondered why I wasn’t trying to find a new job. Working with the public is tricky, it can be either an amazing high or a horrific low. The bad nights made me feel like I wanted to kill everyone when I got off work and I hated feeling that way.

The good nights, though, were an adrenaline rush. Being told I was wonderful, being thanked, actually being able to help the customers and feeling appreciated is a high, I imagine that’s the way it feels for Rick when he’s on stage in front of a receptive audience. I had a musician friend explain it to me this way, audiences generate a tremendous field of energy that gets reflected back to the performer who absorbs that energy. It’s almost as good as cocaine he told me and laughed.

Rick comes in my room and pulls me, half asleep, out of my bed. He picks me up and spins me around, laughing as I cuss at him as I struggle to free myself. When he calms down he lays me on the bed and kisses me.

“Miss me?” he asks me, and I’m tempted to say “no” out of spite even though I have missed him dreadfully. This is the longest we’ve ever been separated.

“Yes, you know I did, I miss you when you’re not around, I get lonely. How did the tour go?”

He lets me go and rolls over, “It was great, not like the old concerts when The Band toured, these were smaller and more personal. Taping the Sound Stage show went great and we had a good time. It was strange knowing I was on TV again, haven’t done that since the old days. I’m going out again in a month, Butter and I are talking about touring, too, we’ll hit the bars around here see if it works, if it goes well, we’ll do some gigs out of state. What’s wrong?” he asks, he must be reading the look of dismay on my face.

“I was just hoping you wouldn’t go out again so soon, but I understand, or I’m trying to understand. It’s like when we first got together, the old days all over again. Either you’re in the studio working or rehearsing, or you’re out on the road and I never know when I’ll get to see you.”

“Yeah, I know I’ll be leaving again soon, but it’s how I make my living. Weren’t you the one who told me about musicians being assholes?”

It’s a quote by John Lennon, “Musicians are assholes and the Beatles were the biggest assholes of all.” And yes, they can be assholes. There are times when I am glad I am not in his girlfriend’s shoes. He loves her, but it doesn’t stop him from being with me too. And in addition to being an asshole, he’s an addict and an alcoholic. In my more sympathetic moments, I genuinely feel sorry for Elizabeth.

“Yes, you can be an asshole, no one knows better than me, but you’re a lovable asshole so you get away with it.”

“Oh, be quiet,” he took me in his arms, kissed me, “I don’t have all that much time and I don’t intend to leave here without fucking you.”

He was home barely a month before he left again. He had time for only one rushed visit with me a week before he left, but at least he made time to see me.

He came in carrying a guitar case that I didn’t recognize and I can see that the book he’s carrying under his arm is a chord book.

He smiles and sets it down. “Since you’re always fooling around with my Takamine, I got you one of your own—and a chord book so you can teach yourself some chords. If you can’t learn on your own, take some lessons, I expect you to be able to play something for me when I get back.”

It’s a cheaper version of his guitar, but it’s beautiful. I pick it up and strum my fingers across the strings. It has that lovely sound that I love about his guitar and it’s easier on the fingers than some other guitars I tried.

I put my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I can. I don’t want him to go on this tour, especially if he’s playing with Butter. They’re both addicts who also drink too much and temperamentally they’re so different I’m afraid this combination is oil and water. Butter has a South Side Chicago mean streak and Rick is country mellow but his Capricorn doesn’t back down. I’ve seen them clash before and I hope this tour isn’t a recipe for disaster.

Two weeks after he leaves I realize my period is late. Normally I’m like clockwork, I start during the full moon and stop five days later. If I’m feeling weird and bitchy all I need to do is look up at the sky and that clues me into what’s wrong.

But no body functions perfectly, I tell myself. I’ve been cut open twice so how could my body not mess up once in a while? Not that I have before now—except for a scare in high school—but why get upset over what might be nothing?

The closest Planned Parenthood is not that far away but I put off getting a pregnancy test. Instead, I distract myself by taking guitar lessons. My teacher is cute and younger than me and he’s very good. He likes my guitar and asks where it came from. I tell him I don’t know, it was a gift and he’s impressed.

A month goes by with only one phone call from Rick. I don’t tell him what’s going on with me, we never discussed what we’d do if I got pregnant. It never happened so we never worried about it and I wasn’t even sure I could. I don’t know what his response would be and frankly, I’m not over-eager to have a kid right now. I’d like to go back to school and Rick’s life is not settled though I think I see this more than he does.

I’ve developed a pain on my left side and it grows worse by the day. I work as long as I can, then when walking becomes painful I call out sick and go to the doctor. I can tell he doesn’t think anything is wrong—at first. This is LA, and there are a lot of drug seekers. He gives me a pregnancy test which turns out to be negative, much to my relief, but the pain isn’t going away.

A few days later I’m back in his office and I can tell by the look on his face that he is genuinely concerned. He pokes and prods me but his fingers are gentle. 

When he’s done he gives it to me straight using words like “ectopic pregnancy” and “surgery”. The last thing I want is to be cut open again but I have no choice. I’m in the hospital by five o’clock that evening and when I leave the operating room I can no longer have children.

I’m glad Rick’s not here, not because I dread his reaction, it’s that I don’t want sympathy. I want to process this and get it straight in my head. I’m way too young to have this happen but sometimes it does. What I need most is to sort out my feelings then deal with them. I tell myself I am not going to spend the rest of my life mourning over what happened.

One morning I finally give into the tears and my doctor walks into the room. I’ve been rather stoic the whole time about this, sort of, and he’s surprised.

“You’re crying,” He says, “Would you like to go home?”

Hell yes I want to go home. It’s only about nine but I call Gina and wake her up to come and get me at eleven. My saint of a doctor writes me a scrip of Demerol, warning me to take it only when I need it.

Rick shows up a week after I got out of the hospital although I was hoping it wouldn’t be so soon. He lifts me up and hugs me, then his face displays a look of surprise when I wince. He looks over and sees the bottle of Demerol on my bedside table knows that I’d been in the hospital again.

“What happened?” he asked, no, demanded.

“I was in the hospital, I had surgery and now I can’t have kids. Please don’t make me talk about it, okay?”

“You were in the hospital, you can’t have kids and you don’t want to tell me what’s going on? Dacy, that’s not good enough!” It was half a plea and half a demand.

“Okay, I had an ectopic pregnancy. My body was so messed up from the other surgeries that I wouldn’t have been able to conceive. The doctor told me I was bleeding internally and he caught it just in time.”

I look at his face and I can tell he’s not happy.

“And you didn’t tell me? Was it mine?” he asks.

“What kind of question to ask me? Whose else would it be? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you were on the road. Am I sad? Yes, but I didn’t want a kid right now, did you?”

“No, we never discussed it but I always thought it might happen someday. Some things just aren’t meant to be, we have each other, that’s enough, isn’t it? I love you and this doesn’t change things. And the next time you’re in the hospital, I don’t care where I am, you tell me!”

“I love you too.” It wasn’t all right, it never would be, but as awful as it was this was going to make our lives much easier. A kid never would have been a good idea.


	27. A Present and a Unexpected Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy receives an unexpected present from Rick. Robbie pays a surprise visit

Two days later the flowers arrived, a mass of roses, peonies, and hydrangeas interspersed with carnations and daisies, in the familiar shades of the pinks, whites, and yellows that I loved. He signed the card “Be good, get well, love Ricky” with the little stick man with a heart-shaped head. That little touch set my eyes to tearing a little, I was more emotional than usual these days.

The flowers didn’t surprise me, I would have been surprised if I hadn’t gotten them. What caught me off guard was the arrival of an envelope with no return address and my name and address printed in block letters by a hand I didn’t recognize.

The contents were even more of a puzzle. Inside the envelope, I found a folded up sheet of plain typing paper and as I unfolded it, a small rectangular shaped piece fluttered to the floor. I stooped to pick it up, wincing a little, then found I was staring at a check for five hundred dollars, signed by Rick himself. 

Whoa. It took me a moment to take this in. He’d never given me money and I had never asked, nor ever would. Presents were one thing and I had some lovely jewelry in a box in my bedroom, but cash? This was something altogether new and I didn’t know what to think.

I picked up the phone and dialed Gina. “Get over here, now,” I told her, “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Jesus, could you at least ask? I haven’t been up that long. Sometimes you really make me wonder why we’re friends, Dacy.”

“I know, just get over here asap, you’ll see when you get here.”

I ran my eyes over the sheet of paper. “Don’t spend it all on bills and groceries” was scrawled across the middle. It was a sweet thing to do, I guess, but I felt uncomfortable. My tennis bracelet had probably cost at least this much, but it had been a present, not a check. I’d never been given cash by a lover before and I needed Gina’s opinion.

She came in the door saying, “Now why the fuck did you insist on my coming here?” and I handed the check to her. 

“Holy shit!” was all she could say--that was my exact sentiments.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “This is a new one, Gee, no lover of mine has ever given me money, let alone five hundred dollars. I’m having trouble figuring this out. Am I over-thinking this? Is this pity money—I definitely don’t want his pity. Is it guilt money? Does he feel bad that I had to have a hysterectomy or is it because he was partly responsible? Or is he just trying to help me out, which is weird because he knows I can take care of myself.”

“Do you think he gave it to you to see what you’d do—though that’s kind of weird. Maybe, well, maybe he’s just trying to look after you and this is his way of doing it.”

“Maybe,” I was staring at the check, “I just wish he’d warned me or asked, you know.”

I handed her the piece of typing paper. She scanned it, then looked at me. “Well, if it was meant to be a surprise that would have spoiled it. If it were me, I might not accept it, then again I haven’t been with him for almost three years. Besides, this is your second major surgery so maybe he wanted to do something for you. Did you want me to deposit it while the banks are still open?”

“Yes, I’ll just let it sit in my account until I need it. Could you pick up a few things at the store? I’ve got a list. I can’t wait until I’m independent and that better be soon.”

“Hey,” she teased, “What’s the point of having friends if you can’t take advantage of them once in a while? You’d do the same for me. The minute you feel well enough to go out, we’re going to hit the best restaurant in town and celebrate.” She leaned over and kissed me, “I’m really proud of you, you know, you went through something really awful without wallowing in self-pity.”

Later in the evening, I watched the sunset as I devoured the enchiladas my neighbor downstairs had given me. My incision was sore so I took a Demerol and stretched out on my sofa, Willy’s black and white head resting on my stomach. I’d just about drifted off the sleep when I heard knocking and realized it was my door, not my neighbor’s.

“Just a minute,” I called as I disentangled myself from my blanket and went to open the door.

The lanky form of Robbie Robertson leaned against the doorjamb. I stared, dumbfounded then threw my arms around him. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly, then said, “Hey are you going to invite me in?”

“Sorry,” I said, letting him go, “My mind is a little drug fogged from the meds my doc gave me.”

“I heard,” he said solemnly, and I asked, “How?”

“I ran into your friend Gina while I was buying cigarettes. She told me what happened so I asked if I could come see you. She gave me your number and address, so here I am.”  
“Here you are,” I echoed, “Just how much did Gigi tell you?”

“All of it,” he said and I hated the pity I saw in his eyes, but it was coming from a friend.

I started to sway on my feet, “I need to sit down,” I murmured, “The Demerol helps the pain but but it makes me a little woozy.”

“How often are you taking it?” Were we sticking to safe conversation?

“At first twice a day, now I only take it at night if the incision is sore from moving around too much. I’m better but not up to doing things like going to the store—which is where you ran into Gina.”

So we were jumping into the heavy stuff. “He was upset that I didn’t tell him even though he was on tour. I’m not sure how he feels about the no more kids part, though a kid wasn’t on either of our agendas. He did give me those flowers, and an, ah, present.”

“Present?” Robbie asked and I got up and showed him the deposit slip for the check.

“Well,” he said, a little taken aback just as I had been. “I wouldn’t have expected this but it’s not out of character considering how he feels about you. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little surprised.”

“Me, too,” I answered, “I was feeling a little guilty accepting it, then I realized he’d drop that much money on heroin and not even think about it. I’ve been trying to figure out why he did this, then I realized there wasn’t a reason, he just did it. That’s the only way I can make sense of it. The only other man who’s ever given me money is my father.”

“Dacy, be careful, okay? Rick is a sweet guy, one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet, but you’re in a triangle with a couple who’s iron solid. Elizabeth won’t let go of Rick, you realize that, don’t you?” I nodded and he went on, “He’s not very good for you. I know how he feels about you and how he rationalizes what he’s doing I don’t know. There’s no way this can end well for you. Maybe somewhere down the line, you should think about getting out.”

“I think about this sometimes, Robbie, I do, but I think the only way that will happen is if he leaves me. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it on my own, not now.” I patted his knee, “I don’t think I’d want to be in Elizabeth’s shoes, he’s high maintenance and I don’t think I want to deal with that.”

I drew a breath, exhaled it noisily. ”I worry more about him than I do about me. Robbie, if he keeps going the way he’s going he’s not going to make old bones. I don’t get why he does this to himself, he has Elizabeth, his kids, a career he loves--and me,” I added as an afterthought. “If he dies young he won’t live to see his grandchildren. I have personal experience with alcoholics--I can see what’s happening to him, so why can’t he?”

“Because he’s an addict, Dacy, that’s why. Heroin always scared the hell out of me, but Rick took to it after his accident when he couldn’t get any more pain pills. Now he’s dependent on it and can’t get off.”

“Or won’t,” I said, though that sounded callous. “I have a friend who hooked up with an ex of mine and followed him into heroin addiction and lost her daughter. I just don’t understand addicts, they choose the drug every time.”

“Whatever you do, don’t follow him into his addiction. Elizabeth did and now she’s hooked just as surely as he is. You’re right, you know, if Rick keeps on going like he is he won’t make old bones, he’s going to leave a lot of people behind who love him. If you catch yourself walking into it, walk away and don’t look back. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

When he left, he acted like he wanted to kiss me but changed his mind. I don’t get Robbie, I mean he’s married for crying out loud but he’s always taken an interest in me, he’s even kissed me. I had to admit I was sort of drawn to him in a way I didn’t understand. How did he see me, did he want me? Or was he just trying to play the role of caring friend?

It was a relief when Rick called me the next day. I told him I loved the flowers, but did he really mean to send me that check?

“Just trying to help out,” he soothed me, “Now tell me, how are you doing? I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I hurt but not too badly and I’m still trying not to think too hard about what happened. I’m getting better—I’m walking every day. When are you coming home?”

“In a few weeks” he promised, “I love you, take care of yourself.”

“I love you too,” I replied, “And I am taking care of myself. Come home soon.”


	28. Beautiful Bobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy finally gets to see Rick and meets Bob Weir at a Shangri La party

Rick rang me last night and my heart did flip-flops when I heard his voice.

"Hey, how's my girl?" he asked, his voice almost a caress.

"I'm doing a lot better—and that six weeks is up," I reply.

He laughs and his laugh tickles my ear, "The tour is just about over, one more show and it's done. I can't wait to see you, babe, I love you."

He's coming home—at last! I can't wait, it seems like he's been gone forever. I hate the fact, though, that I will have to wait to see him. He'll go home to his girlfriend and kids, then as soon as can he will steal some time for me and we'll enjoy some long overdue stolen lovemaking.

I look at myself naked in the mirror. The scar has distorted my abdomen and it makes me feel self-conscious, but the doctor is happy with the way it has healed. There's no vertical scarring crossing the old scar making my stomach look like a tic-tac-toe game. I've become skinny, six weeks have not been sufficient to gain back the weight I lost after surgery. He loves my curves, will he love me thin, too?

Robbie came to see me one more time, to "check on me" as he put it. He's trying to make his marriage work, so he can't be hitting on me, can he? I'm angry at him, I can't help but blame him for the band breaking up but he might not be totally at fault. I love all the boys, I do, but I realize how hard it's been on him, though I do think there should be a more equitable way to spread the money around. After all, what good are songs with no one to play or sing them?

I'm back at work now and it's almost a relief. I get lonely and bored sometimes, with nothing to do and I missed the people I work with. I could never be like Rick's girlfriend, stay home all day with nothing to do but cooking and housework. I'm not "Susie Homemaker" I am a just-adequate housekeeper who keeps my apartment clean enough to fool people into thinking it's cleaner than it is. Dishes don't sit on the counter, my bed's always made, and things are put away. 

I started going out after being such a hermit.. It's kind of strange the number of people I've gotten to know in the LA music scene. I get invited to parties by people who were just names to me before. I'm not a big partier but it's helped me pass the time, and I've gotten some interesting offers I have no intention of accepting.

I'm counting the days until I see Rick although I shouldn't. Part of me thinks he won't want me now because I'm no longer "a woman" but the doctor told me not to think that way. As much as I doubt myself—and him—in my heart I know better. There is something about our relationship that is strong and true, as corny as that sounds. As much as I doubt him at times, I have learned to have faith in his feelings for me.

I am coming home from work at night tired, not ready to go out like I used to be. The doctor says be patient, my body's gone through a lot and it will take time to heal, though I am doing well. I wish I could feel it, though.

Like tonight. I come home and change into shorts and a tee-shirt and collapse on the couch. The cats jump up, jockeying for position and I close my eyes and pass out.  
He's careful not to let me hear him come in, it's one of his favorite games. I am wakened, like Sleepy Beauty by the touch of his lips against mine but I do not open my eyes and gaze at my Prince Charming. No, I jump up, startled and see him laughing at me. He thinks it's funny as hell, in theory, it should be romantic but it doesn't work that way.

"What the fuck?" comes out of my mouth, followed by, "Sorry." He's laughing and after I gather myself together I am laughing too. Besides, it's good to see him, I've missed him.  
I put my arms around him, holding him tightly. I've been waiting six weeks for this, it's been that long or maybe even longer since we made love and I want him.

He picked me up and lay me gently on the couch. "I don't have much time sweetheart," he told me, "I have to get home." He looks me up and down, "You've gotten so thin, was it the surgery?"

"Yes, I've gained a little but not much. I think it's going to take time—my clothes don't fit anymore."

"Well, do you feel up to going to a party? What are you doing tomorrow after you get off work?"

This is what I resent about our relationship, the way he "fits me" into his life. Our time together consists mostly of making love followed by his leaving. I think that accounts for the expensive presents and the trips to visit him sometimes when he's on tour. He knows that it bothers me but it's something that I accept for being with him.

"Nothing, I suppose. Gina has a boyfriend, she's in love, big time, so I don't see as much of her as I used to. It feels like I've lost my best friend."

"There's a party going on tomorrow night at the studio, no wives or girlfriends allowed. You're welcome there, you're family. Come to Shangri La after you get off work."

"Okay, but I'll probably not stay late, I get tired, you know."

"Not a problem, leave when you need to. I'll see you tomorrow night." He leans over and kisses me, "You don't know how much I've missed you." 

After we make love, he gets up and walks out the door like he always does.

There are cars I don't recognize in the parking lot, but I see Rick's red Caddy. I go in through the beach entrance and see faces I recognize—and the girls that have been picked up in the bars. It's stag night at Shangri La.

I wander through the live room, saying the obligatory helloes and receiving the obligatory hugs, some of which I don't mind. Woody's here, Van's here from Woodstock, Dylan has even shown up—he's left his wife and is playing swinging bachelor tonight.

I see two new faces, I don't know them but I recognize. Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir are down here, they must be working with someone. Jerry is all bushy hair and bushy beard with his aviator glasses but Bob catches my eye.

I've never seen him in person and he's quite handsome. Long lean body and long light brown hair, beautiful brown eyes, not as dark as Rick's. I prefer Rick's heart-shaped mouth to his wide one, but Bob Weir is the whole package. And he's staring at me just as hard as I'm staring at him.

I move on, not wanting to start anything. Rick will be in the bar playing pool and I want to make sure no female is hanging on his arm. I can't compete with these actress-model women and their sculptured faces, I'm just an average pretty girl with average pretty looks. Rick draws women, he can't help it, but I've had three years to learn not to let it bother me.

He doesn't look happy, he must be losing. I watch him scratch and hear him say, "Fuck." He looks up and sees me and I stick my tongue out at him which puts a smile on his face. He finishes losing his game then puts his cue away and comes over and picks me up by my waist, saying, "Hi."

He carried me over to the bar before he put me down, and orders me a tequila sunrise, then we started wandering through the studio, saying hello to just about everybody, talking to this person, shaking someone else's hand until I get tired of playing tagalong and told him I was going to sit down and rest.

He kissed the top of my head and patted my bottom before sending me on my way. "I'll find you later," he promised.

I looked for the most secluded spot I could find to sit down. I watched as the beautiful women started dancing with their chosen men or each other. The prettiest was tall, blond, and model thin. When I was younger I would have envied her, not now.

"I was afraid I'd never find you alone," I looked up and Bob Weir was standing in front of me, "Mind if I sit down," he said as he sat next to me.

He worked fast. "Make yourself at home," I said and scooted over to make room for him, “I know we haven't been introduced but I do know who you are."

"And you're, uh, Lacey?"

"No, it's Dacy," my name has given me problems all my life.

"So," he said, smiling, and he has a killer smile, "You're Rick Danko's girlfriend?"

"Well, I guess you could call me that, but emphasize 'friend'."

"Friend?" he gave me a smile that was both skeptical—and sexy.

"Aren't you asking a lot of personal questions?" We just met.

At this point, Rick appeared. "Hello Bob," he said and held out his hand.

Bob shook his hand, why do guys always shake hands? "I was just talking to this young lady, seems she's a friend of yours."

"Good friend," Rick replied, "I came to see if you're ready to go home," he said to me.

"Yes, please," I say, Bob Weir is starting to make me feel uncomfortable. Even now he was giving me a frank stare that seemed to size me up. I took the hand Rick held out and made my escape.

"Thank you for rescuing me," I told Rick, "He was asking a lot of questions."

"You should have avoided him in the first place," he replied, "He has a reputation when it comes to women."

"Really," I mutter, I had a feeling I was going to see Bob Weir again and I wasn't sure I wanted to.


	29. Sue You Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone unknown slips a copy of a magazine with an article about the Dalkon Shield--the IUD device that Dacy had used--and upon reading it she discovers that she is not the only one who has had multiple surgeries and almost died. Rick encourages her to seek legal help--and for the first time mentions her failed pregnancy. She works up the courage and contacts a law firm and makes an appointment

It was the magazine article that set things into motion and I never found out who to thank. I decided later that it was Fate or Kismet that changed my life.

The magazine was lying in the bottom of my locker, I wondered who had put it there and how much trouble they’d had getting it in. Our lockers are criminally easy to break into—all you had to do was pull the bottom of the door.

Someone had managed to open the door just enough to slip the mag in because my locker was still locked. They had left a copy of “Mother Jones” from a couple of months back. I looked at it and noticed that there was a piece of paper clipped inside. The words, “I don’t know if any of this applies to you but you might want to read it” jumped out from the paper. No name, nothing to give me a clue as to who had slipped it into my locker. 

The title page to the article read “The Dalkon Shield”, the same IUD I’d had inserted, then removed, just before I wound up in the hospital with a pelvic infection and my first surgery.

I started reading, but I had to “plug in” and start work. I shoved the magazine in my bag then took it out again at lunch and read the whole article before I had to go back to work.  
It was telling my story, as well as other women like myself. What happened to me had happened to others, we were all victims of an unscrupulous company that put profit above women’s safety.

They knew the product was faulty, it went straight from the drawing board into women’s bodies without being tested! They tried to cover their tracks by giving an employee a stack of files and telling him destroy them. For some reason he kept them and when he was contacted by lawyers he told them, “I’m glad you contacted me” and gave them the files he’d held onto for years.

So, I wasn’t alone or isolated in this. I was lucky to be alive, a few women weren’t, but I had endured three major surgeries and suffered injuries that had nearly killed me. I am not a litigious person but I decided that I would try to find a lawyer and sue these bastards.

I wasn’t in the mood to cook so I went to my favorite burger joint and got a bacon cheeseburger with a large order of fries and a coke. I sit on my couch and re-read the article while I eat and wonder what kind of lawyer whose help would be required. Medical malpractice? Personal injury? Since there was no specific category that seemed an exact fit I settle on personal injury and began looking through the yellow pages.

Damn! How many personal injury lawyers are there in LA anyway? There are pages and pages of listings for this category—essentially ambulance chasers who someday hope to catch the right ambulance. The competition must be fierce.

I finally settle on a firm because I like the look of the lawyers in the ad. Young, but not too young, they posed next to each other with their arms crossed. “We are serious,” the picture seems to say, ”You can count on us to get you lots of money.” No, not really, but I liked the picture and the name of the firm: “Shein and Feldman.” I rolled the name around on my tongue and decided I would call them in the morning and hope they would be willing to take my case.

I was so absorbed in what I was doing that when Rick came in the door I was so shaken I almost picked up my phone to dial “911”.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he laughed, “You should have seen you, you practically jumped straight up off the sofa--what are you doing?”

“Lawyer hunting,” I deadpan. His forehead crinkled, making his eyebrows seem to meld together. I handed him the copy of “Mother Jones”. “Here, read this article, it will explain why.

“Let me get a drink first,” he went to the cupboard and poured himself a glass of cognac, then sat next to me and began reading. He was halfway through when he looked at me and asked, “So, did you have one of these?”

“Yes,” I replied, “And I started having problems just after it was removed. Remember how I told you about my parents taking me to the hospital in the middle of the night? And how the doctor told them if they’d waited another day I might not have made it? That was my first surgery. I’ve had major surgery three times in five years and there is no way that is a coincidence. The same thing that happened to me happened to other women, too—some even died.”

He finished the article then set the magazine down. “I think you should sue them. I’ve watched what you went through since I’ve known you. We lost a kid because of this—even if it hadn’t been the right time whatever you wanted to do would have been fine with me. You deserve retribution for this. You need to find some really good lawyers who can get you a lot of money.”

“We lost a kid.” That was the first time I’d heard those words from him and I was a little surprised. Was he more affected by this than he’d let on?

He pulled me onto his lap and pulled off my shirt. “I think you should be careful of getting your hopes up, you don’t know if this will work out.”

“Why not?” I object, “My injuries are as bad, if not worse, than some of the women in the article and they have been getting settlements. I just need a good lawyer, I want some justice for this. Can we go into my bedroom please?”’

“No, I want to do it here.” He put me on my back and pulled off my jeans.

“But the cats will watch.”

“Too bad, they’ve watched before.” He leaned over and kissed me. His hands found my breasts, then moved down to my belly. “You know, babe, your scar has healed up pretty good, but you’re still so thin! I can count your ribs.”

“I’m enjoying being thin while it lasts. That damn scar has ruined my stomach--even after the second surgery it healed flat, now it’s got that ridge.”

He kissed my scar, “It’s not as bad as you think, you’re just self-conscious. If you win your lawsuit you could have plastic surgery, but I don’t think you need to, your body is beautiful the way it is.”

Liar, I thought, he was trying to make me feel better, he’d been especially tender since this last surgery. His loyalty touched me, he didn’t need to be with me but he was. I didn’t know what he saw in me but he’d won me a long time ago.

He held me tightly before he left. “If you can’t find anyone to take your case, maybe I can help. You don’t need to do this alone, you know.”

“Thank you, but I want to do this on my own,” as he started to protest I put my hand over his mouth, “But I promise, if I do need help, I’ll ask you. It’s just important that I find a way to make this happen by myself.”

“Little Miss Independent,” he teased, “I’ll see you again this week if I can, but when I do I expect a full report.”

I take a run that morning to a new café that had opened and got an iced mocha—it was going to be hot day. When I got home I grabbed the phone book and found the number of Messrs Shein and Feldman.

I drew in a deep breath, “Okay,” I told myself, “Do this now because if you don’t do this now you might not do it at all.”

I heard the phone ringing and a woman’s voice with a soft New York accent answered, “Shein and Feldman, may I help you?”

“I would like to speak with one of the lawyers, I have a personal injury suit I’d like to file and I’m afraid if I don’t talk to someone soon I might not do it at all.”

Her laugh was deep and throaty, “All right, sweetheart, when would you like to come in?”

“Can you fit me in with someone tomorrow morning, say, around ten or so?”

“Mr. Shein has an opening then, I’ll put you on his schedule. Do you know where we’re located?”

Of course I didn’t, so she gave me directions and told me to come in ten minutes early to fill out paperwork. Well, I thought, I’m halfway there.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would jump out of my chest. I’d done it, I’d really done it, though I didn’t know if Mr. Shein would take my case. Collapsing on my couch I started laughing for no reason other than my nerves were getting to me. What the hell was I thinking?

I wished that Rick were here, he was the rock I anchored myself to. I know Robbie had warned me about getting involved with him but he was as necessary to me as breathing. I know I had only myself to blame for my situation, but I knew I couldn’t leave him, not now.


	30. Shein and Feldman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy meets with a lawyer to see if he will take her case. She runs into Robbie after the meeting is over and over breakfast, she tells him what is going on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems a little premature to post this chapter, but it's really a continuation of the previous one

The next morning I am too nervous to eat, the best I can manage is a cup of tea. I take a shower and put on the dress I bought yesterday—I want to wear something conservative so my lawyer will see that I am serious and I am not here for a frivolous reason.

I wish I could have seen Rick, but I think he’s out gigging again with Butter. I know he tries to stay busy, and I don’t blame him, but last night I needed him and he wasn’t there.

I take a shower and dry my hair before and pull it back in a ponytail. For once I don’t seem to look fifteen and when I put on the magenta linen dress and buckle the black belt around my waist I am satisfied that I look presentable. At least I hope I do. I practically live in jeans or the occasional sundress but that is not how I want to present myself today.

I drive into LA and the traffic is not too bad, so I take this as a good omen. Their office is just on the outskirts of a neighborhood that is relatively safe—I have never felt that any place in Los Angeles is entirely safe, but I don’t feel uncomfortable parking my car on the street.

They must own, or rent, their own building because the name “Shein and Feldman” is displayed conspicuously on the brick façade of the building. I go inside and take an elevator up one floor and walk into a lobby that is simply yet elegantly furnished. The pale gold sofas and chairs are lit with a soft glow from the light coming in from the windows.

The receptionist isn’t seated behind the usual counter but has her own oak desk. Her hair is so black it seems to absorb the light from the room, but she’s attractive in spite of her punkish hair and makeup. 

She gives me a welcoming smile. “Are you Dacy?” she asks in a New York accent and I nod. “I’ll let Avram know you’re here.” She pushes a button on the phone and announces me. “Have a seat, dear, he’ll be with you in a moment.”

I don’t have to wait long before a tall man with black hair opens the door and says, “Dacy?” 

He takes my hand and shakes it, his grip is firm and professional but the look in his brown eyes is warm and friendly. I haven’t had much experience with lawyers except for the ones my mother worked for and I hope he’s genuine.

“Let me take you to my office,” he says in an accent I can’t place. Maybe the name “Avram” gave it away, but I realize it’s Israeli. It’s soft, not pronounced, but it’s there.

He leads me into an office dominated by a large walnut desk, surrounded by stacks of files, some quite large while others are smaller. The only clear spot in the room is a space on his desk. 

“What can I do for you young lady?” he asks.

I pull a copy of the article out of my purse and hand it to him. “This, this is why I’m here. What happened to the women in this article happened to me, and I want to know if I can do something about it.”

He skims it, then looks at me. “Where did you get this?” he asks suspiciously.

I grab the magazine from my purse and show it to him. “Someone slipped this into my locker at work. I’m angry—who do these people think they are? I could have died, twice, not to mention the fact that I had three surgeries, suffered a great deal of pain, and now at twenty-six am unable to have children.”

“What if I were to tell you are you sure you read this article? That it might not be beneficial if you had.”

“Then how else would I have found out?” I exploded, “I could have gone for years not knowing that A.H. Robbins released a product onto the market they didn’t even bother to test, with a string they knew causes infections. The way I see it, I had a right to read that article because how else would I find out the cause of what happened to me?”

I didn’t mean to, but I began to tear up, remembering Rick’s words to me about our kid that almost was. I rummaged in my purse for a Kleenex but found none.

He handed me a box of tissues and I took a few. “Sorry,” I say, “Sorry. I was perfectly healthy until I got that IUD. I never had any problems, then I have three surgeries in five years and now I’m sterile. On a very bad day, I feel like the only femininity I can claim is my bottle of hormones.”

“Don’t think like that,” he tells me, “Don’t ever think like that. You’re a lovely young woman with a great deal of courage and I want to help you. My partner has a couple of these cases that he’s working on and he’s very familiar with A.H. Robbins and their dealings. I’m going to bring him in to talk to you.”

Before I could object, he hit the buzzer on his phone and said, “Sol, I’ve got someone I think you’d like to meet.”

Sol Feldman is shorter than his partner but had that same lean build and professional smile. He shakes my hand then sits in the chair next to me.

“Sol, this is Dacy, she had a Dalkon shield and had several surgeries. I would imagine her case is similar to the ones you’re working on.”

“Hello Dacy," he says, "I’m glad you came in to see us. You’ve smart to come now, Robbins is paying off the cases but you want to do this before they file bankruptcy to avoid paying more and believe me, I see that coming.”

I look from one to the other, “Does this mean you will take my case?”  
m  
“Yes,” says Avram, “And I promise you, you’ll receive a settlement you’ll be happy with, even after we take our cut. It may take a year or more, so our advice to you is to go home and try to forget about this for now. You can check in every three months or so and we’ll update you on our progress.” He shook a finger at me, “It’s going to seem slow, but be patient. You’ve had the bad, now you can look forward to a happy ending.”

I shook both their hands and thank them. As I was leaving Miriam handed me a card, “If you need to talk, call me. I’m a very good listener. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”   
I was walking to my car when I saw a black Mercedes with tinted windows pull up beside me. The driver’s window rolled down and a familiar voice said, “How much, sweetheart?”

“You can have me if you take me to breakfast at the Sunshine café. I haven’t had anything to eat and I’m starving.” I kissed Robbie on the lips, if I couldn’t kiss Rick I’d settle for him.

He got out and opened the passenger door and looked at the name on the building. “Why were you talking to lawyers?” he asked.

"I'll tell you at the restaurant," I say as I leaned against the leather seats, "What are you doing up so early?"

“I had some business to take care of.” He said no more and I left it at that. “I almost didn’t recognize you in that dress, has Rick seen it?”

“No, I bought it yesterday for my appointment. I didn’t want to go in jeans or one of my sundresses. This is my feeble attempt at looking businesslike.”

“It looks nice, you should make Rick take you somewhere you can wear it. By the way, how’s he doing?”

I like Robbie but I’m not sure how much I want to tell him. He knows what Rick is like so I answer honestly enough, “He’s doing about the same, though sometimes I think the heroin thing is getting worse. He’ll make an effort to clean up once in a while, but it never lasts for long. I’d be happy to see him get on methadone if it meant he’d get away from the smack. The way he lives he’s not going to make old bones. He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met and he treats me, well, he’s as good to me as he can be under the circumstances.”

“It sucks to be the other woman, doesn’t it, Dacy? Rick is crazy about you but he’ll always put Elizabeth first.”

“Tell me something I don’t know Robbie. I love Rick but I’m glad I’m not the one who has to deal with his baggage. He hides behind the alcohol and that happy go lucky exterior. Something is hurting him and I wish he would tell me what it is. I think I could help if he’d let me but he’ll never admit he wants or needs it.”

We get to the café and the waitress sets coffee and water in front of us. I don’t need the menu, I already know what I want, they make an amazing spinach omelet here. That, the coffee, and some orange juice should last me until it’s time to go to work.

“Now,” he asks, “Are you going to tell me why you went to see a lawyer?”

I open the magazine to where the article is and hand it to him. He takes it and skims through it then lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.” He looks at me, “You had one of these?”

“Um-hmm. Three surgeries in five years, but you only knew about two. I lived a nightmare and it’s because of a little piece of plastic they put in me that was supposed to be safe. Now I’m doing something about it.”

“Does Rick know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, he told me to go for it. I think he’s not sure about it, but he’s being supportive. Being Rick he wouldn’t be any other way. I can’t wait to tell him I found someone to take my case.”

The waitress brought our food and I began to devour my omelet, between not eating and my nerves I’m starving. Robbie watches me, bemused and indulgent, then attacks his own food. We say nothing much as we eat, we’ve covered most of what we have to say. 

Being the gentleman he pays the bill, then puts his arm around me as we walk to his car. I don’t know what Rick would think of our friendship, so I have never mentioned it. I’m glad that Robbie’s in my life, though.

“Are you sure this will work?” he asks as he drives me to his car, “Isn’t this sort of an unknown?”

“My lawyers are pretty confident and that magazine article has given me courage. What else can I do, Robbie, I’ve felt like a helpless victim all these months. I’m trying to claim my power. Will it work? I don’t know, but I’ll lose more if I don’t try.”

Robbie gives me a big hug when he drops me off at my car. “God knows you deserve whatever you can get, you’ve been through a lot.”  
I feel that way too, but I’m scared. I want this to work, I want my pound of flesh--I want them to pay for what they did to me. It overwhelms me when I think about it. The lawyers told me not to think about it, but that’s not possible, not now.


	31. Million Dollar Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you wearing, baby?”
> 
> Here it comes, I hate phone sex but if Elizabeth does it for him you can be damned sure I will too.
> 
> “Oh, I’m wearing shorts and a tank top, why?” I ask coyly.
> 
> “Take off your shorts,” here it comes, he knows I’m going to play along. “Now, put your fingers on yourself and pretend it’s me playing with you.”

I was sitting and staring at the packet of papers that the lawyers sent me, wondering how I was going to be able to remember all the names of the doctors and all the incidents dating back from 1973. Even the note that Miriam enclosed, “Don’t worry about what you can’t remember, we have excellent researchers who’ll find out things about you that you don’t even know.” Ha, is that supposed to make me feel better? Always a comedian, or in this case, a comedienne, somewhere.

I scribbled in what I knew and was trying to remember which doctor did which surgery--was it the same one as the first—when the phone rang.

“Hey sexy,” Rick sounded a little high and he was slurring his words though not too badly, “How’s my favorite girl?”

“Am I your favorite girl?” I wanted to ask, but didn’t, saying instead, “Oh, a little tired but I’m all right, it was one of those crazy nights at work. How’s the gig going?” I’m trying to distract him, I think I know what’s coming.

“It’s going good,” it’s always going good if I ask that, he’s got his high spirits and his cocaine to sustain him. As long as Butter is in a good mood things will go fairly well. I don’t ask about the size of the club or the audience, or how much he think he cleared. These gigs are keeping him going for now.

“Well, I have news for you, first of all, I’ve gained three pounds.”

“Is that all?” mock severity in his tone. He wants my curves back, “You’re meant to be peaches, not bones,” he tells me, but I sort of like the bones.

“Be patient, besides, I have something else to tell you, I found a lawyer who’s going to take my case, and he says I’ll probably get a nice settlement out of this.”

Silence, then I hear him say, “What? Are you serious?”

“Yup, they didn’t tell me how much but they said I’d be happy with it. It might take a couple of years, but I’m going to see money out of this. You didn’t think anything would come of this, did you?”

“Well, of course, I did,” he lies, but I let it pass, “I just didn’t think things would happen so quickly. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” There’s another pause on his end and I know what’s coming.

“What are you wearing, baby?”

Here it comes, I hate phone sex but if Elizabeth does it for him you can be damned sure I will too.

“Oh, I’m wearing shorts and a tank top, why?” I ask coyly.

“Take off your shorts,” here it comes, he knows I’m going to play along. “Now, put your fingers on yourself and pretend it’s me playing with you.”

I haven’t seen him in a month, which means I haven’t had sex in a month, so I do what he says and I’m surprised at how my body is responding.

“Are you doing what I told you?” he asks, “Here, I’ll take off my jeans and pretend I’m with you. Will you moan for me?”

No problem, the sounds coming out of my mouth are all too familiar. This usually doesn’t work for me but I can feel an orgasm coming and by the sounds I can hear on his end of the line, he’s feeling what I’m feeling and I can hear his sighs and moans—like me, he’s way beyond words.

I think we finish at the same time, I’m lying on my side, breathing heavy, wishing all my attempts at self-pleasure could turn out like this. And I’m grateful he doesn’t have a girl in his room.

“I gotta go, babe,” His breathing is still a little labored, “I’ll be home next week, you can tell me all about your lawyer and how much money he’s going to get you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I answer and he hangs up.

I go to bed exhausted from my day, the paperwork, and my little phone sex session with Rick. I’m asleep as soon as I hit my pillow, then start dreaming.

And they’re not good dreams. It’s like he’s in the bed next to me and I’m not asleep, I’m awake. “What are you talking about?” I hear myself saying, “Why in the world would you want to leave California?”

“You should leave too, it’s not safe here for a woman on her own,” he replies, “And besides, you have your money now, you can go anywhere you want. You don’t need me, it’s time…”

I wake up with a start, I sit up and press my hands against my heart to stop its pounding. Where did that dream come from?? I wrap my arms tightly around my knees, hugging myself. No, he’s not going to leave me, at least not now, I can feel this, I know this in my heart and my head. When I have dreams like this they don’t always come true right away, if they come true at all. Damn that Irish great-grandmother of mine who was gifted with the second sight.

I smoke some Thai stick and slowly my heart stops pounding. For good measure, I drink a little of Rick’s cognac. I haven’t had a dream that disturbed me like this in years. I’m always afraid that Rick’s going to leave me, but our relationship works, we work really well. One thing he never does is lie to me—he’s learned I can always tell so he no longer bothers. We understand each other, we suit each other, we’re as comfortable together like an old married couple. And he knows I don’t expect him to marry me.

I almost give in to the temptation to grab my Tarot cards, but I don’t. The worse you want something the more likely you are to read it into your layout, which defeats the purpose of consulting them in the first place. I’ll ask around and see if anyone at work knows a really good psychic, someone will either know of one or will know someone who knows. We are a superstitious lot.

For a while I am afraid to close my eyes, afraid the dream will come back but eventually the cognac and Thai stick push me into a gentle, dreamless slumber and I don’t wake until ten o‘clock. I don’t feel rested, but I’d had enough sleep to make it through work. 

And a week later he was home, and waiting in the parking lot for me to arrive home. He puts his arms around my waist and picks me up and carries me, laughing, into my apartment.

We didn’t make it to my bedroom, we made love on the sofa, hungry for each other and not stopping until we felt sated. He held me tightly, whispering love words in my ear, telling me how much he missed me, how next time he was going to make sure I could join him at least once.

“I don’t want to be separated from you,” he said, “I know I don’t have a right to say this, but I get jealous thinking of all the guys who might be hitting on you, I want you all to myself.”

It would mean more if I didn’t know about his girlfriend, but it’s nice to hear.

I sit up. “I have something to show you,” I tell him and grab the envelope from the lawyers’ office that has been sitting on my coffee table. I hand it to him and watch him open it.

“Wow,” he says simply and “wow” pretty much describes it. “You only have a little bit of this filled in.

“They’ll take care of the rest. I’ve got all the consent forms taken care of, that’s all I really needed to do. Rick, I can’t believe this is really happening, it seems like a dream but it’s not.”

“All this time and it’s no accident that you had all those surgeries. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t really think you could pull this off, I guess I was wrong.”

“You know what I want from this—besides the money? Closure. I want vindication, I want them to have to pay for what they did to me, because it’s not my fault, it’s theirs. All this time I’ve felt guilty, wondering what I’ve done. If I’d had it taken out sooner if I hadn’t had it put in at all. You don’t know how it feels, you can never know how it feels.”

He put the packet back on the table and took me in his arms. He started stroking my hair and my back, soothing the tension out of me. “I felt guilty, too, it was me who got you pregnant and I blamed myself for putting you at risk. Now that we know it’s not either of our faults we can go on from here.”

But to where? I think and wonder if there had been a message in that dream.


	32. Waiting and Waiting 1979-1981

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy finds out her nightmare is real, but there is some good news, her lawyers have reached a settlement with AH Robbins. And Robbie is not leaving her alone

I haven't had that damn dream again, but it haunts me. For the most part, when we dream we are not aware that we are dreaming, but occasionally a dream will be so powerful that it feels more real than reality. The kind of dream when you wake up, you are surprised to be where you are, the dreamscape seems more real than your actual life.

That's what that dream was like for me. I will swear that I was actually talking to him, I wasn't dreaming about talking to him. It was all too real and it has me spooked because I believe it was a portent, that something is coming that I can't stop.

I've never told Rick about my psychic "gifts". Number one, because he wouldn't believe me anyway, and number two, he'd tease me about it relentlessly. I don't understand why he's Ukrainian and that part of the world contains a lot of "old souls" and people who are psychically gifted. He's superstitious but tries not to show it, but I've seen him make the sign against the evil eye when he thought I was looking.

I get it from a distant Irish ancestress, I think it's genetic. I have it, my mother has it, and so do my sisters. One of my sisters is a full-fledged witch, but outside of asking her for a favor once in a while, I pretty much leave that stuff alone.

My lawsuit is progressing slowly, but it's progressing. The last time I talked to my lawyer he told me that I could expect something in the realm of six figures after his cut. That would be nice, I'll replace my car and pay off my bills then put the rest in the bank, taking out a little here and there for fun.

Rick has gone from incredulous to curious, he keeps asking me how much money I think I'll get. I tell him I don't have a number yet. 

"Be patient," I tell him, "I am. Remember, I have a good job and I'm not hurting financially." I'm not rich or close to it, but I can take care of myself.

I don't know if it's his ADHD or stress, but he seems agitated lately. He's just finalized his divorce from his first wife and though he seems relieved he's also distressed. After all, she's the mother of his two children and she was there for him as he was recovering from the accident that could have killed him.

Their marriage was brief but settling the divorce was complicated. He hasn't lived with her for years, but kids and shared experiences tie them together. Just like he's tied now to Elizabeth and tied, in a way, to me.

I am seeing less of him and want to know why, but when he shows up at my door he is sweet and affectionate and as horny as the day we first met. When we spend time together, he seems distant somehow. I want to ask what's wrong but he'd tell me it's nothing. And then I would tell him he's lying. He doesn't like to talk—typical male—but I can read him like a book and I know he's keeping something from me.

1979 passes into 1980 which passes into 1981 and one night he comes over late and barely gives me a chance to say hello before he drags me into the bedroom. He makes love to me like he's desperate, staring into my eyes but not saying anything. He's rough, he's tender, and when he finishes he rolls off me, laying a little ways away from me, not touching me.

"I'm moving back to New York."

The dream comes back in a flash and sweeps over me, it's there and gone in a heartbeat. I put my hand to my chest because my heart is beating so fast I feel like I could black out.

"Why do you want to leave California?" I ask, but I already know what he will say.

"This isn't a good place anymore. The people here have changed, there are way too many drugs, and it's not safe, especially for teenagers." 

This is strange coming from him. He has a heroin habit, and he likes his coke and alcohol. By definition, his kids shouldn't be around him.

"You should leave here too," he continues, "it's not a safe place for a woman who lives by herself. You got mugged once, remember?"

Yes, I did, but I fought back and a couple of neighborhood kids came along and beat the crap out of the guy.

"My job is here, my friends are here, and I have a life here. Gina's pregnant and I want to be here when she has her kid. Why should I want to leave, I love California?"

"You'll be getting your money soon, you could move anywhere you like."

"Anywhere but Woodstock?" I say, a bitterness in my tone I can't avoid.

"Look, " he says, he rolls over and for the first time he looks at me, "We had a good six years, six years where we were never caught. I know Elizabeth has had her suspicions, but she hasn't been able to prove anything. Besides, you deserve more than a half relationship and that's the best I can offer you. Don't you want more?"

Yes, and when I first met you I thought it would be you. I grew to love you in spite of your faults, but I don't envy Elizabeth.

"Yes, I do," I reply, "Sometimes I'd like to be with someone who doesn't have the heroin monkey on his back. I love you, but I don't love your addictions. I don't want you to leave me, but I can't stop you, now can I?"

He tries to take me in his arms but I try to pull away because I'm starting to cry and I don't want him to see it. I always promised myself I wouldn't cry in front of him and now I am in the middle of one hell of an ugly cry.

"This is best for both of us," I hear him say, and he's right but how can I agree when my heart is breaking?

Then he starts trying to kiss me. He pins my arms and puts his mouth on my nipple I try to squirm away. "Leave me alone," I say, but he overpowers me. "I don't want a mercy fuck."

"It's too late for that, and I don't intend to be merciful." He laughs as I struggle to get away from him, "Now did that ever do you any good? This is the last time I'm going to fuck you and I want to make sure that this is something we both will remember."

I walk him to the door when he leaves and we shared one last desperate kiss before disappearing out of my door. I don't know why he had to come over here. All I know is that I am sore and I hurt all over. I'm going to pour a hot bath, then tomorrow I will try to present a brave face at work and not mention what happened because I don't want anyone's pity.

My lawyer calls me in the morning and tells me to come into his office, right away if I can. I look at myself in the mirror and decide that I'll risk it. Damn him, last night Rick did some things I always said "no" to, but I was carried away and he's stronger than me. It was a fitting goodbye to our six stolen years.

I take a quick shower then throw on jeans and a jean jacket. I drive to Shein and Feldman's office and Miriam greets me with a cheery, "It's your big day, sweetheart, smile."

"I haven't had any coffee yet, I can't smile without coffee," I say and she pours me a big mug of their delicious coffee.

"Go on, he's waiting for you," she all but shoves me towards his office.

"Good morning young lady," Avram Shein is more cheerful than anyone should be at this hour, "Have a seat, I have big news for you."

I sit down, noticing his smile with his perfect white teeth. "What's going on?" I ask.

"Well, would you like the good news or the bad news?"

"Bad news first so I can get it over with," I reply and take a big slurp of coffee.

"Well, there is no bad news, I have your offer from AH Robbins. Would you like to hear what your share will be?"

Hell yes, I would, but I don't say that I just nod.

"Two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars if you're willing to sign today." He puts a piece of paper in front of me with a flourish, "That's after I take my share."

I look over the form and my mouth drops open. Two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars will suit me just fine. I nod and he hands me a pen and I sign and date the form.

"Two days from now the money will be deposited into your account. Congratulations, Miss Lee, you have just put a nail in the coffin of AH Robbins. Now go to work and have fun, and tell everyone about your wonderful lawyer."

He stands up to shake my hand, then we hug each other. I start to cry and I don't know where it's coming from—is it happiness or is it Rick? I don't know, I can't tell, but suddenly I feel free.

I leave his office and see a black Mercedes sitting outside, I know who it is before he even rolls down the window.

I wave my copy of the form around, almost dancing. I'm even glad to see him.

"I hear Rick is moving back to New York, I thought you could use a little moral support." He gets out and gives me a big hug, "Come on, I'll buy you steak and eggs."

"How did you know I'd be at my lawyer's?" I ask, "I just got off the phone with them a little while ago."

"Must be kismet," he smiles, "I was leaving a meeting and I saw your car parked in front of the building, I guessed it was you but I wasn't sure until I saw you. What is that by the way?" he says, eying the piece of paper.

"I'll tell you in the restaurant."

He drives to a restaurant in Malibu though I'm not sure Malibu is where I want to be. Rick will be asleep, he won't wake until at least after noon so I'm safe. After we're seated I show him the consent form and watch him smile.

"Good going, girl, what do you plan on doing with your newly acquired wealth?"

"I'm going to pay off my bills, then buy a new used car, maybe a Beamer or a Jeep. I'm going to go to Cabo and after that what's left will go into the bank. I'll check out investing later, banks I trust."

"I'm glad for you, even more, glad that it happened now. I'm sorry about Rick, I know what I've told you and I haven't changed my mind, but it must be hard."

"Thank you, yes it is hard, but Robbie, what if I told you I don't think I've seen the last of him?"

He leaned forward, "What makes you say that, wishful thinking?"

"Yes, and no. If it happens, it won't be right away. I just have a feeling that he's my bad penny and you know what they say about those!"

"Yes, bad pennies always come back. Just be glad he's leaving, Dacy, you can have your life back. If I weren't married…"

"Yes, if you weren't married we might be a good fit but you are married. Just settle for being my friend, okay? The one I can tell anything to, the one I can call if there's no one else to talk to."

He put his hand on mine, his eyes sincere, "I'll always be there if you need me, I promise."


	33. I'm Okay, Well Sort of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy tries to keep busy to keep her mind off Rick, but without much luck. She's bought a new car, has planned a trip to San Francisco on her own and plans to visit Disneyland. She runs into Bob Weir at Fisherman's Wharf and allows him to seduce her and is happy she did. When she gets home she's feeling better, but then she runs into something unexpected

I would be happy if I could, that's the best way I can describe how I'm feeling. Rick took my heart with him to Woodstock leaving a big fucking hole.

Gina is glad he's gone. "About time," she says even though she knows how I'm feeling. After some time has passed she'll start trying to introduce me to various men, but it won't do any good, I don't know when I'll be ready.

Here I am with enough money to pay my bills, splurge on some stuff, and still have plenty to shove into the bank and I'm not feeling the love. I've already bought a new wetsuit and surfboard, and a Raleigh, I've had a yen to start cycling again. All this should lift my spirits but it hasn't.

Oh, and a new-used 1975 Mustang. Not the car I envisioned, but I saw it sitting in a lot at a Ford dealership in Torrance and I fell in love. It's dark blue with a tan interior, a great stereo, not to mention the fact that it's got a V-8 and it's fast. I said goodbye to my little Celica without even a hint of remorse.

I need to make sure I don't go on a spending spree—and right now it would be really easy. I'm going to indulge in my love for Disneyland and will be taking a weekend trip to San Francisco. I wish I'd gotten Bob Weir's number but maybe it's just as well, I don't know if I could sleep with anyone right now, I miss Rick too much.

Saint Dorothy the blessed clerk has scheduled me a three day weekend in two weeks. Gina is pushing me to go somewhere, anywhere, even if it's only as far as Big Sur. I'm going to take the plunge and head to SF. I made reservations at the Downtown Hilton for sentimental reasons--I wonder what Eric is up to these days? I am going to rent a car when I get there, it's almost a six-hour drive and since I'd rather have the extra time to explore the city I'm flying.

I have a three o'clock flight, which should get me to the Hilton just in time for check-in. I've reserved a car at Hertz and they've promised the paperwork will be ready for me to sign.

Out of the blue comes the feeling that I shouldn't be doing this. There is a part of me that is waiting for the phone to ring and to hear Rick's voice. He's kept his key, I don't know why he didn't offer to return it and I was too upset to think about asking for it back. As far as I am concerned he can keep it.

I love flying, it's like it takes me out of myself. Stepping into a plane always gives me a sense of adventure and all the doubts I was having slip away. I feel sorry for anyone afraid of flying.

I pick up my rental car and drive downtown and check into the Hilton. I was going to ask for the name of a good restaurant but decide to drive to Fisherman's Wharf and eat at Alioto's. The food is good, the waiters are friendly, and they have a nice assortment of wines.

After dinner, I wander around the wharf with the rest of the tourists. I'm feeling okay for now but the tears are always ready to come to the surface. I finally see one too many happy couples so I drive back to the hotel where I can cry in peace—alone.

The next morning I wake up and feel energized. I eat breakfast at the hotel coffee shop and set out to re-acquaint myself with one of my favorite cities. I head to Golden Gate Park and take pictures with my new Nikon. I stumble, literally, into a little pool and look up to see palm trees and ferns, a mini-tropical paradise. I go to Seal Rocks and watch the sea lions, then when I'm tired of that I go to Fisherman's Wharf and wander around and look at what the vendors are selling.

There's a section of the wharf where people can set up tables and sell just about anything from jewelry to tee-shirts to anything else that will fit on a table. I fall in love with a long-sleeved blouse that has been batikked in various shades of blue. I find a jewelry vendor who's selling lapis and I splurge and buy a ring, earrings, and a pendant.

There's a tee-shirt seller off by himself and I wander over to see what he has. I want to buy some over-sized shirts for Gina and a couple for myself. I'm looking at Grateful Dead shirts when I hear a voice say,

"You shouldn't buy those, I can give you some for free." I look up and see Bob Weir smiling at me.

"Oh really, and who did you steal them from?" I smile at him, I can't not smile at him. He's as good looking as he was the last time I saw him. The man is sexy, though he's a dog when it comes to women—but he's a lot of fun.

"Hello, Dacy, what are you doing in San Fran?" he takes the shirts I'd picked out from my hand and returns them to the vendor, who is disappointed to lose a sale but impressed that it's Bob Weir.

I'm not ready to tell him the real reason, so I say, "Just taking a long weekend. I love this city and don't get here often."

"I was going to grab some lunch, are you hungry?" I look at his brown eyes and he seems sincere.

"Starving," I answer truthfully, and follow him to a little restaurant. 

He orders a carafe of wine and pours a glass for each of us. "Okay," he says, "Tell me what's going on. I heard Rick went back to New York."

"And you thought that I followed him?"

"Well, yes, I rather thought you would."

"No," I shake my head, "Number one, he didn't want me to. Two, I didn't want this but it wasn't a bad idea. I'd spent six years with him and it was time. I'm not glad it's over, but I'm not sure I would have had the courage to leave. He took the decision out of my hands."

"Are you angry?" those disconcerting brown eyes are staring at me, this man is too good looking.

"Yes, and no. We stayed together longer than we should have. There are no hard feelings, I can be angry but still love him."

"Well, you seem to have a handle on it." Again those shrewd eyes studied me.

"No, I don't, I'm a mess inside. I resent feeling like I have to start over, but I'm a big girl. When I was twenty-three I was more naïve about getting into the relationship, but I've grown up. I want him back but I don't need him back. I just want to get on with my life."

"Good for you." The waitress came to our table and he orders salads for both of us, along with some carrot muffins. "I live in Marin County, I have a nice house that I bought there. Would you like to go see it after lunch?"

"Sure." I'm getting suspicious but I'll play along.

After lunch, we got our cars and I followed him up into the hills. Marin County is one of the prettiest places in California—which has a lot to recommend it. Washington is nice but I don't regret leaving, I've traded it for something better.

His house is a wooden structure half-hidden by trees. The Bay Area is so green compared to LA. There are real trees as opposed to palms. Drive north or south and you'll run into wine country and I love California wines.

I get out of the car and follow him into the house. There's a living room with a huge fireplace—and a fur rug in front of it. I wonder how many women he's seduced on that rug and wonder if he's planning on adding me to the list?

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" he asks, "I can defrost a couple of steaks and bake some potatoes."

"I can put together a salad if you have the stuff—can't let you do all the work."

"Are you cold, I can build a fire, this house tends to be a little chilly if I don't run the heat."

"That would be lovely." Bingo, I know what you want, Mr. Weir, and if you want me that badly you're going to have to deal with the fact that I've only had sex with the same man for six years—except for once with Eric. This may be a good thing, but you're going to have to be patient.

He is. He has me sit next to him and he starts to kiss me and I sort of respond, but I'm finding it's harder than I thought it would be.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

So I tell him. That for six years it's been only Rick, that since he left there hasn't been anyone or even any dating. That I want to do this but I'm afraid of disappointing him.  
"I can help," he tells me and draws off my shirt, then begins caressing and stroking me with his hands. His long fingers find their way over my torso and then begin to rub my shoulders and I feel the tension flowing out of me.

"Don't worry," he whispers, "I'll take it slow," and he does. By the time we both have our clothes off I'm ready, I'm scared but I'm ready.

I've been afraid of being touched, but Bob is taking away my fears. Making love to him feels strange but it feels right. It's been months since Rick left and I've missed being touched. Bob feels comfortable, familiar and if I had any regrets when we started they're gone now.

We eat dinner on his back porch and watch the sun set. We listen to music, smoke weed and drink wine until we decide to go inside. The fire's died down so we go to his bedroom and make love until we fall asleep.

The next day we drive up into wine country and have a late breakfast. I order a case of Chenin blanc and arrange to have it shipped home. My flight isn't until eight so we drive around until it's time for me to catch my plane.

He holds me close, then hands me a piece of paper, "Here's my phone number and address, any time you feel like you need to get away call me. If I'm busy I'll let you know. You can stay at my house if I'm going to be gone, I'll leave you a key under the mat," he kisses me, "I'm not looking for a relationship, but I don't think you are either, you need time to get over Rick." 

I'm feeling happy, even glowing a little inside. I feel at ease with Bob, no expectations, I can be myself. He gave me a gift and I'm grateful to him for it.

When I get home I look up at my apartment windows and notice that they're lit, not dark as they should be. I'm sure I left my lights off when I left, my neighbors will look out for me. I walk up the stairs and as soon as I reach my floor I can hear music playing, "American Beauty" by the Dead which is sort of ironic.

I unlock the door as quietly as I can and open it. My jaw drops open at the sight of Rick lying on the couch naked, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of cognac in the other.

"What the fuck?" I say and he replies, "Come in, shut the door, and close your mouth."

EARLY HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY FOLKS!


	34. Come in, Close the Door, and Shut Your Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy receives a surprise visit from Rick after spending the weekend with Bob Weir. What he has to say to her surprises her even more.

“Come in, shut the door, and close your mouth, Dacy,” Rick says.

I shut the door behind me and lock it, then carefully set down my bags. I don’t know what is surprising me more, that he’s here, or that he’s smoking in my apartment which I hate it, or that he’s naked. Either way, I stand there, dumbfounded, and stare.

He sits up and makes room for me on the couch then makes a great show of stabbing out his cigarette. He pats the couch next to him, “Stop staring, Dacy, you’ve seen me naked before, come and sit down.”

For a moment I can’t move, I’m glued to the floor. What the hell is he doing here? He broke up with me, this is breaking the rules, he said he wanted me to make a clean break. So if I’m supposed to be making a clean break what is he doing here without his clothes?

He holds out his hand so I sigh and go sit next to him. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’m in town helping Joe lay down some tracks for his new album and I wanted to see you.”

“So you decide to wait for me buck naked? I’m not your booty call, Rick.”

He hooks an arm around my neck and says, “You never were a booty call, you know that.” He puts his free hand on my cheek and kisses me, making me remember how much I love kissing him.

He looks at my bags, “Did you go somewhere this weekend?”

“Yes, San Francisco, I needed to get out of my apartment. I got my money so I can afford to take off when I feel like it.”

He’s impressed, he didn’t think it would happen, “How much?”

“Like it’s your business, two hundred twenty-five thousand if you must know.” 

He whistles, “Not bad. You can move now if you want.”

“Are you on me about that again? I don’t want to move, I like it here. I’m making good money, Gina just had her baby, and I got accepted into UCLA, I start next quarter. I have a life here, Rick. Why would I want to leave?”

“So you’re going back to school—I know you’ve wanted to do that for a long time. You could go to school anywhere, you know.”

“Not as a resident, I’d wind up paying out of state tuition until I qualified, and that’s expensive. Why do you keep after me about moving?”

“Because it’s not safe here, not anymore anyway and I worry about you.”

“Then why didn’t you stay here so you can look out for me? Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

“Don’t you think I’ve missed you, too? I don’t want to talk, let’s go to bed, baby.”

I sigh and decide to take the path of least resistance, “Help me with my stuff, then.” He picks up my suitcase and I gather up my bags and my camera. I drop the bag with the shirts Bob gave me and they spill onto the floor.

“Where did you get those?” he asks and I answer, “Oh, at the wharf, one of the vendors was having a sale so I grabbed a bunch.” I hope he believes me because I don’t want to tell him Bob Weir gave them to me.

“Oh,” he replies and I breathe a sigh of relief. He looks at my camera, “That looks new, did you just get it?”

“Yes, you know how long I’ve been wanting a good camera.” I’m not going to tell him there’s film in it, I’m afraid he’ll get ideas, no, I know he will.

He’s hung his coat in my closet, and his folded clothes are sitting on a chair. I put the camera on my dresser then shove my bags in a corner, I’m obviously not going to unpack right now. He picks up my camera and I hear the shutter click as I strip off my clothes.

“Looks like there’s film in it,” he says and if he looks at the counter, he’ll see I’ve taken quite a few shots off this roll. He clicks the shutter twice more and I’m furious.

“Now, how can I get that developed with naked pictures of me on it?”

He puts down the camera and throws me on the bed. “I love pissing you off.” He holds me down and starts kissing me and, damn him, I’ve missed him so much that I don’t want to fight back—just like he knew I wouldn’t. 

Why am I so helpless? Why don’t I have a backbone and tell him to get lost? He touches me and I melt, I always have. I want him more than any man I’ve ever met, he’s my first real love. Bob was a way of filling in the time, like it or not this is where I want to be—in his arms.

After we finish we hold each other. It’s been months since I’ve seen him and it hasn’t gotten easier. Seeing Bob helped me feel better but it wasn’t a cure for the ache I feel inside. The only cure is lying on the bed next to me.

“Are you going to spend the night?” I ask him, not sure what his answer will be.

“If it’s all right with you, yes, I’d like to.”

“It’s all right, I don’t want you to go,” I snuggle up to his warmth and get the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months.

I don't keep his hours. It’s almost ten-thirty and I don’t have the patience to stay in bed anymore so I get up and take a shower. When I finish drying my hair he’s still not awake so I decide to fix breakfast—I’ve never had a chance to cook for him before.

I decide to make biscuits from scratch, easy if you know how. Butter, flour, baking powder, salt and milk. When the oven’s hot, I put them in the oven and begin to fry bacon. There’s an almost new container of orange juice in my fridge so I pull that out, then make coffee and put it in a thermos to stay hot but not get scorched sitting on the burner.

The timer dings and I pull out the biscuits—they’ve turned out perfectly and I breathe a sigh of relief. When the oven cools I’ll put the biscuits and the bacon in to stay warm and wait to fry the eggs when he gets up.

He stumbles into the kitchen, shirtless, his half-fastened belt making a clinking noise. “What are you doing out here? Come back to bed.”

“I’ve cooked breakfast, all I need to do is make the eggs and I can’t remember how you like yours. Is it over easy?”

“That’ll work, is that coffee in the thermos?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hand him a mug, “Sit down and I’ll get you a plate.” I pull out the bacon and the biscuits and put them on the table, along with some butter and honey. “Eggs only take a couple of minutes to fix. Salt and pepper are on the table.”

He sits down and I place two plates and silverware on the table, then busy myself with finishing cooking, feeling pleased that I get to show off for him, even if it’s only breakfast.  
“You’ve never cooked for me before, this is nice. I wish we could have done it before.”

“We’ve never had the chance. You either had to leave or we ate out because we were on the road. I’ve always wanted to show off my cooking for you.”

It feels like we’ve done this before. We sit and eat, making small talk though there’s a feeling of something in the air. Elizabeth has him well trained, he takes our plates when we’re finished and puts them in the sink. He feels around in his pocket, then realizes that he has no cigarettes in them then gives me a sheepish grin.

“I was going to have a cigarette then remembered that you won’t let me smoke in here. He sits down then pats his lap to let me know I should join him.

I rest my head on his shoulder, my arms around his waist, then summon up my courage. “Rick, what are we going to do with this? Will I see you again? If so, can you maybe tell me when?”

“I’ll come and see you when I’m in town, but I don’t know how often that will be. I want to see you, I’ve discovered that I hate having you so far away. Maybe it’s time you moved to New York, find a place in the Catskills like I have.”

What, what is he saying? Move? I don’t want to leave California but I don’t want to be separated from him. Bob told me that he could tell I was still in love and he wouldn’t be surprised if Rick felt the same about me. 

“It’s all a matter of time,” he told me, “He’s going to ask you to move so you’ll be close to him. You’re going to have to make a decision so make sure you make the right one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never had 64 kudos on a story here, even my most popular. Thanks, guys. Would love some comments though


	35. Come in, Close the Door, and Shut Your Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy receives a surprise visit from Rick after spending the weekend with Bob Weir. What he has to say to her surprises her even more.

“Come in, shut the door, and close your mouth,” Rick said.

I shut the door behind me and lock it, then carefully set down my bags. I don’t know what is surprising me more, that he’s here, or that he’s smoking in my apartment which I hate it, or that he’s naked. Either way, I stand there, dumbfounded, and stare.

He sits up and makes room for me on the couch then makes a great show of stabbing out his cigarette. He pats the couch next to him, “Stop staring, Dacy, you’ve seen me naked before, come and sit down.”

For a moment I can’t move, I’m glued to the floor. What the hell is he doing here? He broke up with me, this is breaking the rules, he said he wanted me to make a clean break. So if I’m supposed to be making a clean break what is he doing here without his clothes?

He holds out his hand so I sigh and go sit next to him. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’m in town helping Joe lay down some tracks for his new album and I wanted to see you.”

“So you decide to wait for me buck naked? I’m not your booty call, Rick.”

He hooks an arm around my neck and says, “You never were a booty call, you know that.” He puts his free hand on my cheek and kisses me, making me remember how much I love kissing him.

He looks at my bags, “Did you go somewhere this weekend?”

“Yes, San Francisco, I needed to get out of my apartment. I got my money so I can afford to take off when I feel like it.”

He’s impressed, he didn’t think it would happen, “How much?”

“Like it’s your business, two hundred twenty-five thousand if you must know.” 

He whistles, “Not bad. You can move now if you want.”

“Are you on me about that again? I don’t want to move, I like it here. I’m making good money, Gina just had her baby, and I got accepted into UCLA, I start next quarter. I have a life here, Rick. Why would I want to leave?”

“So you’re going back to school—I know you’ve wanted to do that for a long time. You could go to school anywhere, you know.”

“Not as a resident, I’d wind up paying out of state tuition until I qualified, and that’s expensive. Why do you keep after me about moving?”

“Because it’s not safe here, not anymore anyway and I worry about you.”

“Then why didn’t you stay here so you can look out for me? Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

“Don’t you think I’ve missed you, too? I don’t want to talk, let’s go to bed, baby.”

I sigh and decide to take the path of least resistance, “Help me with my stuff, then.” He picks up my suitcase and I gather up my bags and my camera. I drop the bag with the shirts Bob gave me and they spill onto the floor.

“Where did you get those?” he asks and I answer, “Oh, at the wharf, one of the vendors was having a sale so I grabbed a bunch.” I hope he believes me because I don’t want to tell him Bob Weir gave them to me.

“Oh,” he replies and I breathe a sigh of relief. He looks at my camera, “That looks new, did you just get it?”

“Yes, you know how long I’ve been wanting a good camera.” I’m not going to tell him there’s film in it, I’m afraid he’ll get ideas, no, I know he will.

He’s hung his coat in my closet, and his folded clothes are sitting on a chair. I put the camera on my dresser then shove my bags in a corner, I’m obviously not going to unpack right now. He picks up my camera and I hear the shutter click as I strip off my clothes.

“Looks like there’s film in it,” he says and if he looks at the counter, he’ll see I’ve taken quite a few shots off this roll. He clicks the shutter twice more and I’m furious.

“Now, how can I get that developed with naked pictures of me on it?”

He puts down the camera and throws me on the bed. “I love pissing you off.” He holds me down and starts kissing me and, damn him, I’ve missed him so much that I don’t want to fight back—just like he knew I wouldn’t. 

Why am I so helpless? Why don’t I have a backbone and tell him to get lost? He touches me and I melt, I always have. I want him more than any man I’ve ever met, he’s my first real love. Bob was a way of filling in the time, like it or not this is where I want to be—in his arms.

After we finish we hold each other. It’s been months since I’ve seen him and it hasn’t gotten easier. Seeing Bob helped me feel better but it wasn’t a cure for the ache I feel inside. The only cure is lying on the bed next to me.

“Are you going to spend the night?” I ask him, not sure what his answer will be.

“If it’s all right with you, yes, I’d like to.”

“It’s all right, I don’t want you to go,” I snuggle up to his warmth and get the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months.

I don't keep his hours. It’s almost ten-thirty and I don’t have the patience to stay in bed anymore so I get up and take a shower. When I finish drying my hair he’s still not awake so I decide to fix breakfast—I’ve never had a chance to cook for him before.

I decide to make biscuits from scratch, easy if you know how. Butter, flour, baking powder, salt, and milk. When the oven’s hot, I put them in the oven and begin to fry bacon. There’s an almost new container of orange juice in my fridge so I pull that out, then make coffee and put it in a thermos to stay hot but not get scorched sitting on the burner.

The timer dings and I pull out the biscuits—they’ve turned out perfectly and I breathe a sigh of relief. When the oven cools I’ll put the biscuits and the bacon in to stay warm and wait to fry the eggs when he gets up.

He stumbles into the kitchen, shirtless, his half-fastened belt making a clinking noise. “What are you doing out here? Come back to bed.”

“I’ve cooked breakfast, all I need to do is make the eggs and I can’t remember how you like yours. Is it over easy?”

“That’ll work, is that coffee in the thermos?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hand him a mug, “Sit down and I’ll get you a plate.” I pull out the bacon and the biscuits and put them on the table, along with some butter and honey. “Eggs only take a couple of minutes to fix. Salt and pepper are on the table.”

He sits down and I place two plates and silverware on the table, then busy myself with finishing cooking, feeling pleased that I get to show off for him, even if it’s only breakfast.  
“You’ve never cooked for me before, this is nice. I wish we could have done it before.”

“We’ve never had the chance. You either had to leave or we ate out because we were on the road. I’ve always wanted to show off my cooking for you.”

It feels like we’ve done this before. We sit and eat, making small talk though there’s a feeling of something in the air. Elizabeth has him well trained, he takes our plates when we’re finished and puts them in the sink. He feels around in his pocket, then realizes that he has no cigarettes in them then gives me a sheepish grin.

“I was going to have a cigarette then remembered that you won’t let me smoke in here. He sits down then pats his lap to let me know I should join him.

I rest my head on his shoulder, my arms around his waist, then summon up my courage. “Rick, what are we going to do with this? Will I see you again? If so, can you maybe tell me when?”

“I’ll come and see you when I’m in town, but I don’t know how often that will be. I want to see you, I’ve discovered that I hate having you so far away. Maybe it’s time you moved to New York, find a place in the Catskills like I have.”

What, what is he saying? Move? I don’t want to leave California but I don’t want to be separated from him. Bob told me that he could tell I was still in love and he wouldn’t be surprised if Rick felt the same about me. 

“It’s all a matter of time,” he told me, “He’s going to ask you to move so you’ll be close to him. You’re going to have to make a decision so make sure you make the right one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am working on the next chapter folks, but it's not coming easy. Taking notes, running dialog in my head but it's slow coming. Am open to ideas though it may be clear where it's headed. Patience please


	36. By the Time I Get to Woodstock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy tells Rick she has to think about what he asks. She wasn't prepared to see him let alone have him ask her to move to New York. She meets Robbie to tell him what happened and gets his opinion--don't do it

"I want you to move to New York." Oh how I would have wanted to hear those words when I was twenty-three, but I'm not, I'm thirty-one and although I am a little star-struck over him, I've grown up and gained a little wisdom.

Still, my head is spinning I'm having trouble getting my breath. Although I want to get off his lap I'm not sure I could stay steady on my feet if I did. Instead, I bury my head in his chest and hold on tight.

When I finally catch my breath I ask, "Do you want me to move to New York for you or because you think it will be good for me?" 

"I want you to move for me, little idiot, and because it would be good for you to get away from here. When's the last time you actually breathed clean air? You were coughing last night."

My heart has finally stopped pounding and I'm breathing normally at last. I gently disentangle myself from him and stand up. "Rick, I can't, you know I can't. My friends are here and my job is here. The area around Woodstock is all little towns, no good prospects for employment there. I'm not going to waitress, clean rooms, wash dishes, or be a store clerk. And what about school? I'm excited about starting classes, it's been over ten years since I was in college. When I dropped out I promised myself that someday I would go back."

"There's a good liberal arts college in Woodstock, you could get a teaching degree—I think you'd be a good teacher. How long would it take to get your Ph.D., ten years? More, maybe? And tell me, didn't you get an offer for a promotion at work?"

I held up two fingers, "Two offers, I turned them both down. I want to be down in the trenches where I won't have to kiss up to management."

"So how long are you going to do the same thing? Until you retire? Come on, Dacy, you're wasting your talents just to collect a paycheck. I know some smart people and you're one of the smartest. You've gotten lazy and could be a lot more."

"And how am I going to support myself? I'm not going to run through my money going to school—and isn't Bard private? And expensive? I need a way to support myself."

"I can ask around, say a friend of mine is looking for a job. You have more options than you give yourself credit for—you're only looking at the downside and not the fact there might be something out there that would suit you. Anyone who knows you knows you won't wash dishes and you probably couldn't get hired as a waitress—maybe a barmaid though, I bet you'd get a lot of tips."

I raised my fist to hit him and he caught my arm, laughing. "Calm down there girl. Look, why don't you get a three day weekend and fly to New York and check it out? How do you know you won't fall in love with Woodstock? Fall is coming and the colors are amazing. You'll have to get used to snow but you could trade surfing for skiing. You can hike, you can ride your bike…"

"But I can't surf and I won't be near the beach. 

"No, there's no surfing, but there are lots of things to do. Please, just think about it, that's all I'm asking. What time do you have to be at work?" He's changing the subject and I suspect why.  
"The same time as always—if you've forgotten you've been away too long."

He says nothing but takes my hand and pulls me back to the bedroom. I'm going to be so sore I won't be able to walk normally for days. I wonder for the millionth time why I can never tell him "no".

I left Rick with a promise to think about what he told me. "You have to give me time, you can't just drop this like a bombshell on me. You're asking a lot, don't you know that? I haven't seen or heard from you in six months and now this? Please, give me some time, all right?"

I don't think I've had a weekend like this in my life. Sex, a lot of sex, with two men in three days is a little out of my experience. It was a lot of fun but it was exhausting.

I need to talk to Robbie. I want to hear from him that moving to New York is a bad idea and I will be better off staying here. That's what I want him to tell me anyway, what he'll probably tell me is something along the lines of, "You know Rick and you know what you should do, I can't really help you."

"You look terrible," Gina says when she sees me, and I know I do. I have violet circles under my eyes that no concealer could cover. "Must have been some weekend in San Fran."

"It was," I reply, "Gina, I have something to confess, I've turned into a slut. I slept with two men over my three day weekend." 

Her eyes widen, then she laughs. "Dacy, you're not a slut but I've got to admit I wouldn't think you had it in you! Okay, now that you've told me I want names—and don't lie."

"Well," this is proving harder than I thought. I let out a breath then say, "Bob Weir, and Rick."

"What the fuck?" she says under her breath, "I thought Rick was gone, that he left you for good. I thought he was back in New York and was going to leave you alone."

"So did I, in fact, I was counting on it. He was in my apartment…"

"What was he doing in your apartment? You mean you didn't get your key back when he broke up with you?"

"In all honesty, the damn key was the last thing on my mind. I don't know why I forgot, or why he didn't give it to me, but yes, he let himself in and was sitting on my sofa when I got home." I thought I would leave out the fact that he was sitting on my sofa naked.

"Damn, Dacy, I thought he was gone, I was hoping he was gone and you could get your life back."

"Well, me too, but it gets more complicated than that—he wants me to move to New York."

"Oh no, oh no, you are not moving to New York, not if I have anything to say about it. Come on, we've got to plug in. You haven't heard the last from me about this, believe me."

I wanted to call Robbie when I got home from work, but I fell asleep on my sofa and didn't wake until about seven. I look up at my wall clock and decide it's too early to get up so I stumble to my bedroom and sleep until noon and wake feeling better.

I'm still tired when I get off work, but I have enough energy left to call Robbie's private number. I don't know if I'm going to get his answering machine, but a cheerful stoned voice answers, "Hello" and I'm relieved to know I got to him so easily.

"Hello, Robbie? It's Dacy. Uh…" I start to stumble over what I'm going to say but he breaks in and says,

"Hey girl, I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?"

"Robbie, I need to talk to you. Do you have some free time coming up in the next few days?"

"For you, always. What's going on, is something wrong?"

"Well, yes and no. I don't want to talk over the phone, I spend too much time talking on the phone. Can we meet, please?"

"Sure, sweetie. Why don't we meet at the beach behind Shangri-la tomorrow, say around one?"

"Is that one normal people's time, or one musician's time?"

"Well, let's make it normal time. Dacy, seriously, is something wrong? Do you need help?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow, I really appreciate this Robbie."

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow. And call me if you need to."

It's a bright, sunny day at Zuma beach. The sky is cloudless and the sun is shining down, but I bring along a denim jacket in case it gets chilly. People think it's always sunny and warm in California, especially Los Angeles, but it's not. We have cold days in the winter, though when it drops below seventy it does seem cold to us.

I see Robbie and wave. He's got a blanket spread on the beach and I can see a picnic basket and a thermos. I look at this picture and think how perfect it is, but remember that it's getting a little out of control, well, more than a little. I saw Keith Moon passed out on the beach one morning, and it's gotten way too easy to score drugs of your choice these days.

"Hey Gorgeous," he says and hugs me tightly. I like Robbie's hugs, they're sincere, he doesn't feign affection, for all people criticize him, Robbie is the real deal. I'm happy to be one of his friends. "What's going on?" he asked as I started to tear up.

I shook my head and wiped my eyes. "I'm okay," what's in the picnic basket?"

He opened the lid and the sharp smell of pastrami wafted up. "Pastrami sandwiches, yours with no cheese and ice tea in the thermos. He set the paper-wrapped sandwich on a plate and handed it to me, then poured a big mug of tea out of the thermos. "Beer for me, tea for you, eat up then tell me what's wrong."

There are some really good delis in LA, and out of sight Mexican restaurants. When it comes to food Los Angeles can really hold its own.

We don't talk much while we're eating, but he's looking at me and he can tell something's wrong. When we're finished he places the plates back in the basket and refills my rea, then sits He sits back and looks at me then says, "Okay, Dacy, tell me what's wrong."

"Rick wants me to move to New York, he wants me back."

"Whoa, what? When did you see him?"

"Day before yesterday, I came home and he was sitting in my apartment."

"How? Did he have a key? What was he doing there?"

I don't tell Robbie that I came home to a stark naked Rick sitting on my couch, that's too much information and none of his business. He'll know what happened anyway.

"I never got my key back from him, I was so upset it was the last thing on my mind. I didn't think I was going to see him again, that was the impression I got."

He looked out at the ocean, not saying anything, then turned to me and said, "Don't do it. You have a chance to start over, you don't need him. You deserve more than what he will give you. I love Rick, you'll never find a sweeter, kinder person. If he wasn't with Elizabeth the two of you would be a good match, but you don't want this—you had six years of it. Move on."

"You know, I don't envy Elizabeth, I even felt guilty at times, but I love that asshole, I really do." I got up and walked to the edge of the water, "I've told him I have to think about this, that I couldn't give him an answer right away, but Robbie, if I said I'm not tempted I'd be lying."

He came and stood behind me and slipped his arms around my waist, "I know, Dacy, I know. You don't fall out of love with someone in six months, but if you stay here you'll have a chance to get over him. Don't do it, please!"


	37. I Do Believe in Your Hexagram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy throws the I-Ching for advice and the results do not contain good news. She goes to the neighborhood cantina and when she comes home late she is attacked and beaten by two assailants who want her purse. She is rescued by some passers-by. The hospital finds her address book in her purse and notify Robbie of what has happened. When she gets home she falls asleep that night and has a dream about someone trying to open her door...

I do a tarot reading and the cards are all gibberish. I don’t trust it so I throw the I-Ching and this is what I get:

Hexagram 54, Kuei Mei, The Marriageable Maiden  
Text: The Marriageable Maiden. Advance Brings Misfortune. No Goal or Destination is now favorable.

This is never a good hexagram to draw, not good at all, but the message seems clear, I’d be crazy to move to New York, it would bring me nothing but grief.

I love Rick, I have loved him for six years. I know his quirks and his idiosyncrasies. I know what he likes in bed. He, in turn, knows my body like a book and knows how to make me laugh when I’m unhappy. I miss him so much it drives me crazy, six months has not been long enough to change this.

There is an interesting line in the text interpretation: “It is better to be a concubine than to be unmarried.” I’m not so sure about that myself. Do I want to spend the rest of my life being Rick’s concubine? I’m thirty-one and I’ve devoted six years of my life to him so I guess you could say I’d resigned myself to being a concubine, but I’m not so sure that’s what I want.

When he called me I felt a fluttering like butterflies in my stomach as soon as I heard his voice. He didn’t mention my moving, not even a hint, just his soft baby voice asking me how work is going and how much he misses me. Does he have a strategy planned, is he sure that in the long run I will give in and join him in Woodstock?

I both dread and look forward to his calls. Since he left I have missed him horribly, there had been no man until I spent the weekend with Bob Weir. A little of my confidence is returning but I am still vulnerable and when I talked to him I felt myself weaken if only a little.

Not a day goes by that I don’t hope I’ll hear from him. Not a day goes by that I dread that I will. Seeing him re-opened the wound. Now I’m torn, do I listen to my friends or do I listen to my heart?

At work I’m distracted, I connect people to wrong area codes, wrong countries even. My supervisor takes me aside, “What’s wrong with you, Dacy?” And I shake my head, “I don’t know.” But I’m lying, I know exactly what’s wrong.

One night after work I can’t stand to stay in my apartment. I change my clothes and go to a little cantina that’s down the street. I don’t want to get drunk, but I want to drink some margaritas and listen to Tejano and dance. 

I’m surrounded by friends at the cantina. They laugh at my attempts to speak Spanish and order me drinks I don’t want and don’t drink. I feel at ease, at home. When I leave at two they’re trying to talk me into staying, but I wave and say goodnight and head to my apartment.

I’ve never had trouble walking here at night, except for that one time. I walk with confidence as if I’m daring someone to mess with me and I’ve never been bothered.

Lately, though, I seem to have lost that. I’m confused, lost, distracted and can’t seem to keep my mind focused on where I am. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to walk home alone, maybe I should have left with someone from the cantina.

There were two of them and later on I would feel sad they were Hispanic. I heard footsteps but didn’t pay any attention, not thinking they had anything to do with me. Suddenly, though, two men were standing in front of me, demanding that I give them my purse.

I should have, really, but I have taken self-defense classes, I work out, I run, I ride my bike, I surf, and I’m strong. It pissed me off that they were trying to rob me, never mind the fact that my purse only had fifty dollars in it, along with my driver’s license and my address book. I keep my credit cards at home and only bring them when I want to use them.

“Fuck off,” I reply, “I’m not giving you shit, get the fuck out of my face.” 

One grabs my purse strap, but I was holding onto it. I shoved my hand in his face but this only seemed to anger him. I aimed a sharp kick in his shins and he reached out his hand and slapped me on the side of my head.

Which makes me madder. I reached out with my fist and aimed it at his nose, but missed. His friend tried to punch me in the face but I ducked and his blow only glanced the side of my head. At that point, I should have let go of my purse but the tequila I’d drunk had made me careless and I tried to return the blow but the other one landed a punch on my temple that knocked me out.

They were still hitting me when I fell and before I lost consciousness I heard footsteps. Oh no, they’ve got reinforcements I thought and passed out.

I woke, smelling the medicinal odor of a hospital—god knows I was familiar enough with them. A nurse was shaking me awake, saying, “Wake up, Dacy, don’t fall asleep, we need to make sure that you don’t have a concussion.

I saw her anxious face, then noted I was wearing a hospital gown and my left wrist was encased in a plaster cast. “What happened?” I asked.

“You were attacked, but some men walked by and saw what was happening. Two chased your assailants but didn’t catch them, the other called the police and an ambulance. You were very lucky.”

“Not so lucky,” I said and looked at my wrist. To make matters worse I was dizzy and wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and go to sleep. 

A wave of nausea passed over me, “I’m going to be sick,” I said and she put and emesis basin under my chin and I threw up tequila and the nachos I’d eaten at the bar. The bastards must have punched me in the stomach because throwing up made me hurt like hell.

Another nurse came in, followed by a tall man I didn’t recognize at first. “You have a visitor,” she announced, sounding rather pleased and I recognized the tall, thin form of Robbie.

“Hey, what happened to you?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“I made this mistake of walking home alone on a wrong night. Robbie, I’ve lived in this neighborhood for almost eight years and nothing like this has ever happened.” Talking was making my head hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“They were looking for someone to notify and they got my name out of your address book. I came as soon as I could.”

“So they didn’t get my purse after all—good. Robbie, I’m sorry but I can’t talk anymore, I feel like shit.”

“That’s okay, you’re allowed.” He kissed the top of my head, “Call me if you need anything, I’ll even bring you home if you like.”

I watched him leave my room then closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep, only to have the nurse wake me again. A CT scan revealed I had a mild concussion—what was so mild about it, my head hurt like hell. They tell me I can go home the day after tomorrow if I show a little improvement, or at least if I don’t get worse.

The hospital lets me go home as long as someone can look out for me. Simple, my next-door neighbor is a nice Mexican lady and she’ll make sure I’m all right and will give me way more food than I can eat! It will be hard but I can take care of the cat litter box myself.

I don’t call Robbie for a ride home, Gina’s offered and I’m accepting. She shows up in my room with her blond-haired bambino and gives me a hug. He smells of milk and baby and I adore him. He’s walking now and holds both of our hands, proud that he can toddle out on his stubby legs which lasts until the orderly insists I get in the wheelchair. I put Baby on my lap and he crows as he enjoys a new kind of ride.

I wish I could have had a “baby Rick.” I think Rick feels the same way but maybe it’s best that it didn’t happen. How could I explain to him or her why their father isn’t there and he’s married to another woman?

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Gina asks as we pull into the parking lot, “If you need any help…”

“Please don’t fuss over me,” I tell her, “If I need you, I’ll call, I promise. If you can come up and help me get settled that will be fine. As soon as Maria knows I’m home she’ll appear with food. I just need to be careful, I get dizzy if I move too fast. I’m going to have to call Dorothy and explain I’ll be out for ten days—doctor’s orders. How bad do I look?”

“Kinda bad, but it could be worse—honestly. I’ll get Robbie out of his car seat, don’t go up the stairs without me.”

Why does she have to call him “Robbie?” When she told me they were naming the baby Robert, I winced, I don’t hate Robbie but I don’t like the reminder, either. Why can’t they at least call him “Bobbie”?

She carries him up the stairs, following anxiously behind me. I sometimes think Gina has taken what’s happened to me worse than I have. I’m not blasé about it, I try not to dwell on it because what’s the point? I’m not a fatalist but sometimes I think we get dealt a certain set of cards for a reason. It’s what you do with the hand that counts and my parents have taught me to be strong and not let circumstances bring you down.

My lovely neighbor brought me a plate of enchiladas and a plate of chili rellanos. I heat the enchiladas in the oven and when they are bubbling hot I bring them out to the living room where I’ve made up a bed heaped with pillows. The pillows help stabilize me and I can see the passing of people out my window. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep in my bedroom.

This incident has done something to me, little noises make me nervous that I was able to ignore before. Still, the pain pills—and I definitely need them—help me relax and I’m able to drift off to a dreamless sleep.

In the hospital, I noticed that I’ve stopped dreaming. I told the doctor about it and he assured me that it was probably only temporary, which makes it strange when I’m dreaming about someone unlocking and opening my door. I’m sure that something is going on when I hear it shut and I’m starting to feel afraid. They haven’t caught my assailants and what if they know where I live and have come to finish what they started?

Then I hear a familiar voice saying, “Wake up, sleepyhead,” and I sit up too suddenly and when I start to get dizzy Rick takes me in his arms to steady me.


	38. When No Means Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick finds out about Dacy's attack from Robbie and comes to see her. He once again tells her she should move to New York using the recent assault as his reason

There are streaks of light from the street lamps coming in through the curtains and I am afraid of how much of the damage Rick can see on my face. I cover myself with my hands because I don't want him to see the lumps and the bruises. When I hear the lamp switch click I say, "Don't look at me, I look hideous."

He pulls my hands away with his gentle touch. "Let me look, I want to know what those bastards did to you. Robbie said you were pretty banged up."

"Robbie told you what happened?" I can't believe what I'm hearing. Why did Robbie call him of all people?

"Yeah, he called me a few days ago, but today was the earliest I could get` away. He was worried about you. Here, scoot over a bit so I can sit next to you, do you want a pillow under your head?" I nod and he pulls out the topmost pillow and puts it under me. "Now, tell me how did this happen?"

I close my eyes because moving has made me dizzy. "There's not much to tell, I went to a little cantina down the street to have a drink then left around two. I was jumped by some guys who wanted my purse. I wouldn't let them have it so…"

"Why not?" he asked, "If you had given it to them you would have been better off and this might not have happened."

"They made me mad and I wasn't going to stand for it. They thought they could just take it and I wouldn't fight back, but that's not what happened. I know," I sighed, "They beat me up pretty good before a couple of guys passing by saw what was happening. I think they may have been in the cantina when I was there. They fought them off but weren't able to catch them when they ran. My rescuers called 911 and an ambulance and they took me to the hospital."

Talking is making my head hurt and I don't want to discuss this, at least not right now. "Rick, please, can we talk about this tomorrow? There's not a place where I don't hurt, I feel awful and I just want to sleep."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Here, let me take some of your pillows into the bedroom. I'll come and get you after I get your bed turned down." He disappears into my room then comes back and lifts me gingerly as if he's afraid that if he isn't careful I might break. He carries me into the bedroom and lays me down on the bed and removes first my clothes, then his.

"I can't do anything," I say, embarrassed, "Not until ten days are up."

"I know," he tells me, "I expected that just go to sleep, you need your rest." He takes me into his arms and for the first time since I was attacked, I feel like I can relax. I spend the night curled up next to him, savoring his warmth and wake feeling rested for the first time in days.

Early in the morning I open my eyes and notice he's not in bed. I get up, slowly, and look around my room to see if he's left. His suitcase and guitar are in the corner, so I lay back down, satisfied that he hasn't taken off and pull the covers up. Now that I have him back I don't want to let him go.

He comes in the door carrying styrofoam containers with two large cups balanced on top. "I was awake so I got us breakfast and coffee. I figured you needed to eat." He handed a large cup to me, "This is one of those nasty mochas you seem to like so well—careful, it's hot. I got scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. I know you have orange juice. I'll get some silverware, do you mind not using plates?"

I check an urge to shake my head. "No," I reply, "that's dishes I don't have to wash."

He set the food down, saying, "I didn't have much to eat yesterday so breakfast sounded good."

We eat, saying little, communicating with our eyes and smiles. How long had it been since I'd eaten breakfast with him, naked? I missed these too few tender moments we used to share. He was over three thousand miles away from me now and we hadn't spoken in six months. I was supposed to start having a "whole relationship" with someone new in place of the half-relationship which had been the best he could offer me. Had he changed his mind?

When we finish he takes the dishes into the kitchen. "I'm not even going to ask if I can smoke," he smiles, "How are you feeling?"

"Better, a little woozy still. I'm afraid to look in the mirror."

He crawls into bed with me, "I bet I can make you feel a little better."

What is wrong with him, he wants me when I look like this? And besides, the doctor said no exercise.

He seems to read my thoughts, "Don't worry," he whispers, "I'll be careful, you just lay very still and let me do the work," and he proceeds to make gentle, careful love to me. I start to relax and begin to enjoy his touch, my doubts fading.

"Are you all right?" he asks when he finishes and my only answer is "um-hmmm." I've forgotten about my face, forgotten that there are still parts of my body that hurt. All that matters is he's holding me again.

"I want you to move to Woodstock, Dacy, you're not safe here anymore."

So this again. "I want to, Rick, but I'm not sure it's the right thing to do. For one thing, the economy's going through a rough stretch and how hard will it be for me to find a job? Working for the phone company has paid for three surgeries and now this concussion—how do I know I can find benefits like that anywhere else? Besides, we've just gotten back together, why rush things?"

"Because I need to get you there before winter starts. I'm going to be very busy touring after the new year—the band is getting back together."

"What?" This is good news, this is what he needs. He's been kind of lost since they broke up, 

"We decided, Garth, Richard, Levon, and I, that we needed to do this. I've been doing a lot of gigs with people, but I'm not making the kind of money that I need. We weren't sure if Garth would be on board for this, but he is. I think this will help."

"Have you talked to Robbie? What did he say about it?" If he hasn't given his consent, I'll do anything to make him given it, even fuck him if I have to. I'll wear him down if he even thinks about refusing.

"Yes, we have, and he gave the go-ahead. I've been playing with the Cates Brothers and they've agreed to back us up. We're working on a schedule, a setlist, and need to get a road crew and sound techs—you know how much work touring is."

I do. How many times did I watch Rick get ready to go on the road? I'm so thrilled for him, so happy that Robbie isn't going to stand in their way! I know this is no guarantee of success, but it might work, at least for a while.

What I'm worried about are the smack and Richard's drinking. Richard is fragile and he needs help, going on the road like this could help, or it could break him. I'm afraid for Richard. The other guys don't seem to get how serious his drinking and drug problems are, they don't get alcoholism unless it's a skid road drunk. 

"I am so happy for you, Rick, this is wonderful news and I understand how busy you'll be. It's just that I don't want to make a decision while I feel like this. You know I want to say yes, I just need to be practical. Moving to LA was an impulse decision, and I was lucky it worked out." I draw a deep breath, "And I don't want to move to New York only to have you decide that you want to break things off with me."

"Ouch," he said, "But I do understand. I know I'm asking a lot, but I can promise that you won't regret it. Are you telling me you want to move to New York?"

"Yes, maybe." I'm defeated and I know it, then he smiles at me and I know I'm in trouble but it might be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to those who are giving me Kudos! However, I need to have some comments so I have an idea what is good or not so good about this story. It would also be nice to know just how many readers I have out there. Also, is this story worth continuing?


	39. Jemima Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick may have convinced Dacey to move to New York, a scary walk home from the cantina may clinch it

This should be a happy time for me, I tell myself, after all, Rick is here and there’s little chance of discovery by Elizabeth. And in some ways, it is happy for I have Rick to myself--most of the time.

I see a side of him I don’t like—I think he enjoys seeing me helpless, I have been more pliable, and yielding, more willing to let him be in control. He was so sweet and protective in the past when I’d been in the hospital, and eager to help once I got out. He’s like that now, but he’s hovering, coming close to smothering me when I’d rather he’d not. My head’s getting better but he tells me not to overdo it, remember to let myself heal when I say I’d rather go on a five-mile run on the beach. 

Lately, he’s started staying out late at night, which is a welcome break. I’m used to living alone, when he first got here I needed him, both for help and for reassurance. Now the bruises on my face are healing, they’ve faded from purple to green to yellow and I don’t need a nursemaid. I still look awful, but at least I look and feel a little better.

I woke this morning when he came in at six. I don’t know where he’d been, I thought maybe he’d been working with some of his friends at Shangri-la, but he smelled of a soap and shampoo that didn’t belong to me. 

I want to say something but I don’t. I remember the mantra I made when I first started seeing him. “Remember, if he’s cheating on Elizabeth with you, he’ll cheat on you with someone else.” What can I say? Rick is appealing and he finds it hard to say no to anyone, especially the opposite sex. I don’t own him any more than he owns me. 

When it comes to moving to New York I’m not so sure, especially since I don’t understand why he wants me to. It was hard when he first left, we had been together six years and I was so in love that I could not see being with anyone but him. But it was starting to make sense, I began to understand that it was good that I was away from him. Sleeping with Bob Weir helped me see that a new beginning was possible and for that, I owe him a debt of gratitude. Rick still holds my heart but I have had a chance to see that yes, I can live without him.

And now he’s back.

I haven’t been out at night yet, but I’d like to go to the cantina the next time Rick goes out. I need to leave my apartment, I have been holed up here too long. I’m a social person, not a hermit. 

I’ve noticed that noises and strange lights and shadows make me nervous. Rick seems to understand because he doesn’t tease me about it. I’ve always been fearless and I do not like this new feeling of being afraid.

He’s sitting on the sofa, noodling on his guitar, trying out some chords for a new song maybe. I’m stretched out, resting, trying to forget that I have a headache but his guitar is soothing me and I’m starting to feel better.

He hits a wrong note and makes a face. I start giggling, I can’t help myself, the bad note and his expression are making me laugh. 

“Stop that,” he says and swats me on my thigh, but he’s smiling.

“Can’t help it, between the wrong note and that look it was funny. Are you going out tonight?”

"I think so if I do I won't be home till late."

“Well,” I sit up, “I’m going to the cantina then, I’m so fucking tired of sitting at home." He's about to open his mouth but I won't let him, "It's not that far only five blocks. I want to let my friends know I'm okay. My face looks grotesque but it’s better and if I put on some makeup it won’t look so bad—not as bad,” I correct myself.

“You need to stay home,” he puts on his stern “I’m serious” look. Sometimes I think it’s annoying but at the moment I think it’s cute. “You only have a few more days to go and didn’t you say you have a headache?” His hand is inching up my thigh.

“It’s too lonely when you make me stay here by myself. I’m tired of the tv, I’m tired of practicing my guitar, I want to go out just long enough for a drink and some company. Don’t nursemaid me, please.”

He puts his guitar back in the case. “How’s that headache of yours? Why don’t we see if I can help it go away?” 

I make no objections. He’s leaving in a few days but I don’t want him to go. Maybe he’s right, maybe I do need to leave here but I love California. There won’t be anyplace like “The Whiskey” in Woodstock and I love the nightlife and the little hole-in-the-wall clubs. I like the woods, but I’m a city girl, an urban girl. I love the beach, I spend hours there, can I be happy in New York? 

After we finish he looks at his watch. “Unless you feel like cooking I think I’m going to find us some takeout—what do you want to eat?”

“Mexican,” I answer and he narrows his eyes at me, “Well, you asked. Anything you want will be fine, I’m hungry enough to eat anything that I don’t have to cook.”  
He kisses me, then gets dressed while I take a shower. I really am going to the cantina, he can’t stop me if he’s not here, now can he? It’s been almost a week and I need to go out. He’ll be out until late and I’ll be home before he gets back.

He comes back with a huge sack of Chinese food—I can smell the Kung Pao chicken as soon as he walks in the door. He pulls out one tiny white box after another: the Kung Pao chicken is joined by broccoli and beef, another vegetable dish, egg rolls, white and fried rice. I get plates from the kitchen and we devour our dinner while watching tv. We flip a coin and he loses, so he’s the one who has to clean up.

He gets ready to go out and I stretch out on the couch feeling sleepy from the big meal. “I think I’m going to fall asleep from eating so much,” and he answers, “Good, then I don’t have to worry about you going out.”

"Very funny," I mutter, but kiss him a kiss goodbye.

“Don’t go out,” he admonishes me, and as the door shuts behind him I flip him off, no way am I staying home. At nine-thirty I get ready to go out, a little discouraged because the makeup doesn’t hide the bruises as much as I wish it would, but I’m going to the cantina anyway.

I’m a few yards down the sidewalk when one of my neighbors sees me and offers me a ride. I don’t feel ready to walk anyway, so I accept. He drops me off at the cantina and when I go in I’m greeted by my friends who are glad to see I’m alive.

If I’d accepted all the drinks that I was offered I would have been falling down drunk. Instead, I accept one margarita (which I suspect is a double) then switch to lemonade and ice water. I turn down offers to dance, but I play pool and laugh and talk with my friends. It’s so good to be out of the apartment that I lose track of time and at two a.m. I accept a shot of tequila before deciding it’s time to go home.

I see a couple leaving so I walk with them for a block then they turn off and bid me goodnight which means I'm on my own. Alone.

I take a few steps and hear a garbage can rattle as a stray cat jumps out of it. I stop, stiffen and then scold myself for being afraid of a cat, but then I notice the shadows in the alley and how easy it would be for someone to hide and I wouldn’t even see them.

I take a deep breath and force myself to go on, but it’s not easy. I’ve walked down this alley before and was never bothered by it—until the attack. They haven’t arrested the men who assaulted me, how do I know they haven’t been looking for me so they could finish what they started?

The hair on my neck is standing up and my eyes start to tear. Don’t be a baby I tell myself but it isn’t doing any good. I’m walking but a part of me wants to stop, but what would I do then? Run back to the cantina and ask someone to walk me home?

I hear footsteps and voices speaking Spanish and I quicken my pace. Two blocks I’ve walked so far, three more to go. I keep hoping the footsteps will die away and maybe they have but my ears are ringing and I’m scared of the shadows so I start to run even though I know I shouldn’t.

I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is following me, then run into someone. “No, no!” I’m screaming and crying at the same time, then I look up to see Rick’s face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say over and over again, and I’m not merely crying, I’m sobbing and my head is starting to ache but he’s holding me and soothing me and I collapse into his arms. I don’t even think about asking him what he’s doing in the alley at this hour.

“You’re all right, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he says, gentling me. He’s holding onto me tightly and it comforts me to feel his arms encircling me. “I got home early and you weren’t there so I thought I’d go to the cantina to look for you.” He looks at me and kisses me, “You silly girl, you’re only a few blocks from your apartment and you’re having a panic attack?” He laughs and his laugh helps to loosen the tension I’m feeling and I start to feel it flow out of me.

“Really?” I ask, but I’m too tense to feel embarrassed. He links his arm around my waist and we begin walking and I see he’s right, I’m only two blocks away from home.

“You’re shell-shocked, you know, you’re like a frightened little rabbit. It’s going to take time for you to get over this. You need to get away from here, live somewhere safe where you don’t have to worry about walking home alone.”

"You might be right." This is the first time I admit this because I realize now that my neighborhood may no longer ever feel safe again. "I might move, Rick, if you promise to be there for me like you were before you left. Maybe Woodstock won't seem so bad if I know you love me and will be there for me.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if that wasn’t what I wanted too. I love you, Dacy, you have no idea how much.”

Hmm, I don’t know if I believe that but I want to be with him. Maybe I’ll change my mind, maybe I won’t do it but I’d move to the ends of the earth if it means being with him. I love this bastard and I never could tell him no, so it looks like I’m moving to fucking New York.


	40. LA Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Dacy take a trip to San Diego and she realizes she's letting Rick convince here to move to NY

He took me home and put me to bed, then held me all night while I slept. I felt safe, grateful, and loved. I had no nightmares, no unwelcome waking, but slept, dreamless until I opened my eyes at 10:30.

Rick was still sleeping and I watched him as I listened to his quiet, steady breathing. He looked different now, much younger if that was possible, and almost like a stranger. I met a skinny, gangly young man with sharp facial contours disguised by the patchy facial hair he’d grown. His dark eyes looked almost Asian and you could see his Slavic ancestry if you cared to look. His hair was much longer then and suited him. Some men look good in long hair and Rick could carry it off better than most. 

Now he was clean-shaven with his hair cropped short. I missed his long hair, I used to love to run my fingers through it, grab handfuls as I pulled his face close so I could kiss him. I wondered, unfairly maybe, if his wife had anything to do with his new look.

Couldn’t he at least grow his mustache back?

I reached out a cautious hand and ran my fingers through his thick, coarse hair, trying not to wake him, but without luck. He opened his eyes, took my hand in his and kissed my palm, then curled his lips up in the smile that, fortunately, had not changed.

“Now why the hell are you awake?” he asked.

“Some of us don’t sleep for hours,” I tease, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh you didn’t? Well, you’re going to pay the penalty now, young lady,” he said and began to kiss me, then moved his mouth down to my breasts, teasing my nipples with his tongue and his teeth.

It was the first time in days that we could really make love. We’d only had sex once since he came and I had to play a passive role. Now his hands found my breasts, squeezing them, driving me crazy. He slid down, covering my abs with kisses and parted my legs, saying just, “umm,” before he put his tongue to work on me. By the time he raised himself up I was so ready for him that if he hadn’t pushed himself into me I would have climbed on top of him in frustration.

When he finished he hesitated a little just before he pulled out so I could feel that last minute quivering. I love that, love the way it feels and would hold him to me so he couldn’t pull out too soon. 

He collapsed next to me and held me close. “You need a break, you know that? Let me take you away from here, let’s go to Santa Barbara and spend the night.”

“No, I hate Santa Barbara, let’s go to San Diego, there’s more to do. We could see the zoo or the aquarium…”

“No, I don’t feel like dealing with the crowds,” he protested, “I’d like to go to the Midway Museum, {’ve never been there before.”

“What about Tijuana?” I ask without much hope. It’s not his style but I thought I’d try anyway.

“No!” he said emphatically, “there’s enough to do in San Diego, you can go to Tijuana another time. We can think of something on the way there. Why don’t we take your Mustang and put the top down?”

“I’m driving,” I say, knowing he'll say "no".

“No you’re not, I’ll drive. Let’s take a shower and get going. We can get something to eat on the way.” He jumped out of bed, ready to get going. Rick has two speeds, “on” and “off”, there’s really not much in between. He’ll go for hours without sleeping, sleep for a marathon twelve hours, or more. I can’t do that, I don’t even want to, I’d rather be up and awake and not waste the day. He keeps what he calls “musician’s hours” and is proud of it.

We showered and he got dressed first, then went out to the living room and looked in the phone book for hotels. “How about ‘Holiday Inn’?” he asked and I countered, “How about the Westin instead, and I’ll pay for half. It’s nicer.”

“Okay, we’ll stay there, but I’m paying.” He dialed the hotel and made reservations while I dried my hair. I was pulling on a pair of jeans when he came into my room and looked at me, then asked, “Are you going to wear those?”

What’s wrong with my jeans? This is strange. “Well, what do you think I should wear?”

He walked over to the closet and pulled out my pink dress with black polka dots and a very short skirt, “How about this?”

“I’ll freeze, we’re going to be in a convertible, remember?” I pulled out a pair of white bell-bottoms and a cotton sweater with red, white, blue, and black stripes, “How about this, and I’ll bring the pink dress with me.”

Where was this coming from? I’d seen pictures of him with his wife. She seems to be very fond of shirtwaist dresses with modest hems and that’s not me. I’m an LA Woman, I dress in jeans and skimpy tee shirts for every day and short dresses when I go out at night. The clothes I wear suit me and I’ve never heard him complain before. This does not sound like the Rick I know.

We scream down the freeway in my Mustang, our hair contained by the Grateful Dead caps that Bob Weir gave me. He doesn’t ask where I got them and I don’t say. We listen to R & B until I get tired of it and put a Doors tape into the cassette player.

He gives me a “what are you doing?” look and I tell him, “You have no say in this.” The opening bass chords of “LA Woman” come on, followed by Ray Manzarek’s organ and I turn it up. This is the “Los Angelenos” theme song though you might have to live here to understand.

Here’s what I heard a DJ say: “You have to drive down the freeway at night, listening to “LA Woman” turned up loud.” I do, I’ve lived here for nine years and this truly is our theme.

He has the decency to wait until the song is over before he pops it out of the tape player. We’re at the first turnoff anyway and we follow the signs until we see the sign to the Maritime Museum. There are old sailing ships, a couple of submarines—including a Soviet one—and other historic vessels here. There’s also the oldest operating sailing vessel, the Star of India, which is over a hundred years old.

“Let’s go there instead of the Midway. We can do that tomorrow.” I’m not in the mood for an aircraft carrier, even if it is from World War II. I’m from a Navy town, and aircraft carriers, destroyers, and battleships don’t thrill me the way they do him. I hope I can talk him out of the Midway.

The Maritime Museum is truly a wonder and Rick is impressed. The old iron-hulled barkentine, the Star of India is truly amazing and alone is worth the cost of admission. I wish I’d come here earlier.

We bribe a concierge at the Westin and she arranges for us to check into our room early. She also makes reservations for dinner at a very nice restaurant which is close by. I make a mental note to leave her a nice tip.

“I’ll pay for dinner,” I say as we’re going up the elevator.

“No, I will, you paid for the museum…”

“But you paid for the hotel. I have money now, remember?” 

The elevator stops and we step into our room—number 909. Add it up and you have number nine, my lucky number. Rick doesn’t give me a hard time about my superstitions, he’s Ukrainian and that part of the world is filled with superstitions and old souls. He’s also learned not to tease me about my intuition. I don’t know where I get it from, but it seldom steers me wrong, if I listen. I wonder what it’s trying to tell me now.

We make love again, then get dressed and to go to dinner. If he complained about how I looked before he has no complaints now. My dress is black lace and the hem is a good six inches above my knees. I twist my hair back in a chignon and put on makeup, finishing off my look with silver earrings and black stiletto heels. He whistles when he sees me, and makes an obscene comment about my dress’s hem as we make our way to the restaurant.

Eat your heart out, Elizabeth.

After we make love that night he asks me point blank, “Are you going to move to New York?” which catches me off guard. This must have been the point of his visit, to pin me down.

“If you promise to stay with me, if you maintain our relationship on the level it was before, then yes, I will. I’m not going to move only to find you have an attack of conscience and leave me again. I’m not moving for me, I’m moving for you, for you Rick.”

He pulls me closer, saying, “I know, I know. I guess I really didn’t understand before that this is scary for you, but it will work out, you’ll see. The guys have been asking when you’re going to leave California and join us back east.

That’s interesting. I miss them too, especially Levon. I miss going to the studio and listening to them, hanging around and laughing. It’s not been the same since they all left.  
“Are you really getting back together? Have you found someone to replace Robbie?

“Yes, the Cates have agreed to play with us for a while. One thing I feel bad about is that I’m going to be busy for quite some time. We’re going to be busy rehearsing and touring, like a lot, but I’ll have you come and join me when I can. I really want you to hear us.”

“I’m going to be busy, too, I have a yen to go to nursing school,” I say dreamily, “I’d to work in an ER. I can go to school and work part-time and live on my savings and still have plenty left if I’m careful.”

“There’s a school in Poughkeepsie, that’s twenty miles from Kingston but if that’s what you want you should check it out. It might be kind of hard commuting, but once you graduate, you could probably find a job that’s closer. Sure you want to do that instead of teaching?”

“Better money in nursing, I don’t think I’d be happy teaching. To get my RN would only be two years if I want a BSN I can always go for it later.”

I’m scaring myself, talking about this. Do I really want this or am I letting him talk me into it? This is so far from what I thought I wanted for my life, but I never really had plans, either. I’ll try this for a while and if I don’t like it I’ll leave him and New York—for good.


	41. Goodbye Until

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy and Rick spend one more day together before he has to fly back to NY. She promises him she'll be there in September tho he'll be gone. That night she returns to work and has to tell her best friend she's back together with him

We get up and eat breakfast, then go see the Midway. I didn’t want to but said nothing, this is the last day we have together for a long time. If I’m lucky I may see him in September if he can steal some time to see me.

The Midway is huge, I’d forgotten just how big aircraft carriers are, and she’s old, but wasn’t commissioned until 1945 so she missed the battle she’s named after. She’s seen a lot of action, though, when you walk these decks you know can tell you’re walking on history. 

We decide to do the tour, even though it’s three hours. The tour guides are a little surprised that we decline the “souvenir photo” that seems to be part of the package, but we don’t care. There are no pictures of us, save one or two that paparazzi snapped, I don’t need pictures I have memories.

The aircraft on the deck and in the hangar are the real thing, and we get to try the flight simulator—I surprise both Rick and myself when I do as well as he does. I am enjoying this more than I thought I would and I’m glad he insisted.

The living quarters seem cramped, it would drive me crazy to live onboard ship. The officer's quarters are a little better, but not by much. You'd have to want to be here to serve on this damn ship.

I see shadows flickering around that no one else seems to notice but that doesn’t surprise me. It would have surprised me if this ship hadn’t been haunted. I strain my ears trying to listen to see if there are any voices, but there are too many people around.

Rick notices what I’m doing and squeezes my shoulders. “Ignore what you’re seeing,” he whispers, “I saw someone watching you.” He understands, he’s Ukrainian and they know all about these things though he claims he doesn’t believe in ghosts he understands they are real for me.

We hang towards the back though we don’t need to, no one recognizes him. No one cares who he is, we’re just tourists doing tourist things, a guy and a girl in love. One old lady whispers to her friend, “They’re so in love, it’s so sweet.” You got that right, cowgirl.

We get back to Venice about five and catch an early dinner then go back to my apartment. I’m suddenly aware that he’s leaving tomorrow and I don’t want him to. We’d fallen back into the old patterns of when we were together and suddenly it’s all going to come to a halt--again.

We have our talk after we make love, we have to now while we're feeling relaxed and in the glow, though I think neither of us wants to.

He pulls out a cigarette, looks at me and sighs, then puts it away. “So you’re coming to Woodstock the second week of September? I’m not going to be there, can’t you trade with someone?” He’s trying his best to charm me.

“That’s harder than you realize, Rick. Besides, I’ve thought about this, maybe it’s best if I do this on my own. I’m going to rent a car so I can drive around and see about different schools, check out the employment situation, and what’s available in rentals. If I do decide to go to nursing school it’ll take me two years to get my certificate and license. I think I’d rather live where I’m going to school than face a long commute. After I graduate I’ll look for someplace close to where I work. I want to go to work in a hospital if I can get hired." 

“There’s a hospital in Kingston, maybe you can get a job there. It might be a good place for you. What’s this fascination with nursing, anyway?”

"Well, the way I see it, I can use it to look after you. Face it, someone has to. I can remind you to take care of yourself and go to the doctor if I think something's wrong. I do worry about you, you know."

“So, you’re going to move to New York and study nursing so you can take care of me?” He tried to tickle me and I slugged him.

“So, what’s wrong with that? It’s a good field to go into and I can expand my education and maybe become a nurse practitioner and have more autonomy. I’d like to work in an emergency room or an ICU, it’s a lot of stress but it’s rewarding. The more I think about it, the more it seems to fit.”

“Whatever you decide, you’ll be good at it. And it might be nice to have a nurse looking after me.”

“You mean to nag you about smoking and drinking too much? I already do that and I’m no nurse.”

He tucked me into the crook of his arm, “Good night, nurse,” he said and we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

We said our goodbyes in my apartment. I didn’t want anyone to see me clinging to him, crying tears I didn’t want to shed. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he told me in his soft baby tones, “I’ll try to see you when you’re in New York, but if not I’ll find a reason to fly out here. Better still, can you be on your way by October? The weather won’t be getting too bad yet, do you still plan on driving?”

“Yes, if I decide to move that’s what I plan on doing, I’ll give myself three weeks which will probably more than I need. I’ll have the cats, some books, and some clothes with me and the rest will be shipped. This visit will determine if I move to New York or stay in California.”

"That sounds fair. Hurry up get your things together. I'm tired of waiting for you. Once you're there we can be together again." He gave me a quick hug and kiss goodbye and walked out of my door. I watch him drive away and realize that he’s gone again and I don’t know when I’ll see him.

I have to work that night. My face is still bruised and maybe if I look like I’ve been crying maybe they’ll think it’s from the assault. No one knows he’s been back, but I’ll have to tell Gina, I want to ask her advice though I think I know what she’s going to say.

She comes in and sits next to me. She’s pregnant again and looking all beautiful and golden. Pregnancy seems to suit her in a way I’m sure it never would me. I hope she doesn’t try to have a lot of kids, it’ll ruin her figure and her breasts.

She plugs in, then puts her hand on my face turning it this way and that. “Well, you don’t look good, but you don’t look too bad. How are you feeling?”

Okay, time for the big reveal. I can’t not tell her about Rick so I won’t try. “It was hard at first, but then Rick showed up and that made it a lot easier.”

She looks at me and grabs my upper arm then marches me out of the room into the restroom. “Now, what did you tell me? Did he come back? I thought he was gone." 

"He did come back, remember? He came back to help Joe with some things on his album and decided to come and see me. When he saw me with my face bruised and swollen from the attack he decided he'd stay and take care of me."

“You had me to take care of you, you didn’t need him. I hoped you finally came to your senses and got rid of him. Please tell me you’re not going to move to New York to be with him.” I lower my eyes and say nothing, then look up and see the crestfallen look on her face. “Oh Dacy, no, say you aren’t going to do it.”

“I’m thinking about it, being assaulted close to my own home changed everything. I don’t feel safe here anymore, every time I go out now I’m looking over my shoulder. I want to get away from the memory, I want to live somewhere that doesn’t remind me of what happened. I’m going to Woodstock for my vacation and I’ll see if I like it. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Besides, he’ll be on tour while I’m there so I won’t have him trying to influence me one way or the other. I’ve never seen a New England autumn and I want to see if it’s as beautiful as people say it is. Anyway, I need to get away, so I’m going.”

“Just don’t do something stupid, okay? You have a chance to get away from him, why blow it?”

“I know, Gina, I’ve been asking myself the same question and I still don’t have an answer.”

As I sit in the first-class cabin I wonder if I am being stupid. First for the exorbitant cost of the ticket, but this is a nine-hour flight and it sounded more comfortable than economy. I have also splurged on my hotel and spent more than I should, but the name “The Woodstock Inn on the Millstream” appealed to me.

My travel agent supplied me with a package of pamphlets for things like car rentals, day trips, and “Things to do”. I called the college in Poughkeepsie and was told I could fill out a registration form and gave me the names of contacts in the nursing school. I’m afraid that I won’t eligible to enter the nursing program this year because there’s no way I’ll be able to attend fall quarter.

Rick gave me Albert Grossman’s number and promised that he would call and let him know I’m coming so I guess I'm obligated to go see him.

This is feeling too real and I don’t like it. It was one thing when it was just an abstract idea that I didn’t see becoming reality but now as I sit in this big metal tube I realize that I’m actually doing it. As soon as it takes off I’m to order a double scotch even though it’s too early because what I am doing is overwhelming me.


	42. From LA to Woodstock to Kingston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy flies to Woodstock, not sure what she's doing, and finds out she's falling in love with it

The bump of the jet’s tires hitting the runway woke me—I hadn’t realized that I’d fallen asleep, but with a boring in-flight movie and the fatigue of a nine-hour flight I’m not surprised. The flight had been as tiring as a long night at work.

Now the “747” leveled out and slowed and taxied down the runway to the terminal. We first class passengers have the privilege of debarking first and I’m glad to be able to make my escape out of the metal tube that had held me prisoner. A shuttle bus was waiting to take us to the baggage terminal, then I would have to take another to get to the rental car agency. I wished I’d been able to drive to New York but it wouldn’t have been possible.

I’ve rented a little Dodge Challenger, small but fast. I get maps and pamphlets from the clerk and directions on the quickest way to get from the terminal to the highway. I’d like a snack but want to get on the road now since I’m facing a two-hour drive. It will be nine before I reach Woodstock and by then I’ll be starving.

It seems like New York City goes on forever before I finally leave its outskirts. The traffic isn’t too bad but I judge it by LA standards. Now that I’m on the state highway that goes to Woodstock the traffic has lightened up and there are few cars on the road.

The autumn sky is starting to darken and I can see stars through the windshield. I’ve lived in a big city for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to drive on an almost deserted highway. Cars occasionally come and go but it’s like I have the road to myself, it’s an eerie feeling.

My hotel is on the outskirts of Woodstock and I’m happy to see the sign “The Woodstock Inn on the Millstream”. It resembles a huge house, not the idea of what I think a hotel looks like, but when I enter I see a front desk with a middle-aged woman standing behind it who is brisk and efficient and soon has me registered.

I decide to ask her how far it is to Poughkeepsie and if she knows where the nursing school is.

Oh, do you really want to go that far?” she asks me, “There’s a community college in Stoneridge with an excellent nursing program and it’s only ten miles away. I can give you directions if you like. The school is closed for summer break now, but the registrar’s office is open. You might go there and check it out first. Are you planning on going to school here?”

She’s more friendly than I expected someone from the east coast to be and I tell her I’m thinking of moving here, and she starts recommending tiny towns and hamlets where I might find a place to live that will be cheaper than Woodstock. She asks if I’m hungry and when I answer in the affirmative she tells me about a restaurant that’s a five minute walk from here called “Joshua’s”.

She’s talkative and normally I’d like to chat but what I want most is to put my luggage in my room and go get food. She’s reluctant to see me leave, evidently things are slow but I have got to eat before I collapse.

The food at Joshua’s is good and I think the waitress is a little shocked at how I devour my meal. I can’t help it. I slept through dinner on the plane and I hate airline food anyway. After nine hours in the air I am tired and hungry and all I want to do now that I’ve eaten is go to sleep, even though it is seven o’clock LA time I fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow and I’m out until I wake up the next morning.

I look at the clock next to my bed and see it says ten o’clock. No time for a shower if I want to get breakfast, so I brush my teeth and wash my face and put on fresh clothes then head back to Joshua’s. The food is good here, but I hope I can find somewhere else to eat.

Breakfast is good. Big fluffy waffles and four strips of bacon and I feel stuffed when I finish. Rick would tease me if he saw the way I was eating. With breakfast finished I go back to my hotel and take a shower and wash my hair. That, along with the coffee I drank has me more or less awake despite the time difference.

I get into my car and drive to Stoneridge to check out the school. It’s a quick ten miles but I take the time to notice the autumn colors of a New England which I’ve never seen before.

And they’re impressive. Fall is in its early stages here and the trees are a mixture of green, yellow, orange and red. Not like LA at all, palm trees don’t change their color. The temperature will grow a little cooler, especially at night, and the water of the ocean will lose the warmth it gets from the summer sun. In winter the storms will start up and the surfing will be fantastic with bigger sets of waves than we get during the summer months.

It’s not cold here, yet, but the hotel clerk told me the mornings are growing chilly. In a month or so there will be frost and by November they may get the first snow. I’ve brought along an extra suitcase in case I decide to invest in winter clothes—which I’ll have to if I move here. If I move here.

Stoneridge is not so impressive, but it’s old, like everything else here. There’s not much left in Los Angeles that’s old, you can drive the El Camino Real and check out a mission or two that was built by the Spanish. San Juan Capistrano isn’t far and when you go there you realize just how old California really is. I don’t like going there, way too many ghosts and they try to talk to me. It’s old here too and I wonder if I’m going to pick up on something that I wish would leave me alone.

The town may be old, but the school is relatively modern. Since school is not in session there are no students present which makes me feel better. I bet I’m going to be the oldest student in the program and I’m only thirty-one which is not old. I follow the signs to the registrar’s office and a bored looking girl gives me an application to fill out. I sit at a table and fill out the application, only occasionally having to refer to the pages I printed out from my application to UCLA. When I’m done I return it and write out a check and I’m officially a student, albeit one that will not start until winter.

Oh god, did I really do this?

I get a course catalog to look at when I get back to my hotel, but right now I decide to do a little driving around and eventually find myself on the outskirts of Kingston. I decide I could use a little more caffeine and grab a newspaper so I can check out apartment rentals. I don’t know how I’ll find my way around, but this town is tiny compared to LA, so I won’t get too lost.

There are only a few people in the coffee shop and they don’t pay any attention to me which suits me fine. The waitress brings my coffee, which is as good as anything I’ve had in LA, and I turn to the “For Rent” section and begin circling possibilities. There’s one I like because of the price but I wonder if I’m really willing to drive around not knowing where I’m going just to find it.

The waitress peers over my shoulder as she comes to refill the little I’ve had to drink. “That’s a nice place, it’s an old house that’s divided it into two apartments. A friend of mine used to live there. You could call the real estate agent if she’s there and ask to see it.”

Kismet, that’s what this is. I come into a café and now I’m going to look at an apartment? I feel like I’m being pulled towards something that I did not quite expect. Maybe the hexagram was wrong, maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I let out a loud sigh and go to the payphone and make the call. The agent sounds pleased and professional and tells me exactly how to find the apartment. She’ll meet me in a few minutes and in the meantime I can look it over.

I ask the waitress to put my coffee in a paper cup and gather my things and leave. It turns out that this apartment is only about ten minutes away from the coffee shop and was surprisingly easy to find.

At first I’m a little shocked, it’s not at all like an apartment in California. It’s an old clapboard house that’s been kept up, no peeling paint or loose boards anywhere. I’m no expert on architecture, but I imagine it was built no later than the eighteen-hundreds. There are two doors and I imagine one is for the lower floor which looks lived in, so the upper floor must be the one for rent.

Someone added a porch and did a decent job of it because it seems to fit in with the house. It has a porch swing, which appeals to me, my great aunt’s house in Illinois had one and I spent many pleasant summer hours in it.

A middle-aged woman in an older model Buick drives up and introduces herself as Millie Krause, the agent, and how do I like the house? She tells me it was built in the early eighteen-hundreds so it’s older than I expected, but the owners have kept it maintained and use it for rental income. Is the rent too much, she asks me, she could negotiate a better price.

She doesn’t stop talking as she unlocks the door and shows me up the stairs to the apartment. She’s telling me about its features, including a fireplace which you need here to keep warm in the winter.

She doesn’t really have to say anything because I’ve fallen in love with this place. The living room is roomy without being too big and I love the warm red brick fireplace. The kitchen and dining area are right off it, but I don’t care that it’s not closed off. I look out the bedroom window and see trees and old houses instead of apartments and there’s no trace of smog hanging in the air.

I want to live here, this place is mine, I can feel it. I offer to give her first and last month’s rent, plus the deposit, if she’ll accept travelers checks because I don’t have a local account. To my surprise she does. I fill out the checks and the rental application and she hands me the keys. It happened that fast.

I’m halfway in a dream as I drive back to Woodstock. Part of me is asking, “Are you an idiot?” while another part of me is in a state of bliss. I feel safe, no one is going to assault me ever again. Millie Krause assured me that it’s safe to walk the streets at night and is sorry for what happened to me in California. I’ll be happy here she assures me.

I spend the rest of the week happily wasting time. I go to Poughkeepsie and buy a few things for the coming winter. I drive around and learn the hiking trails and take a few short hikes wearing my new hiking boots and flannel shirts. I visit my new apartment and go to the hardware store to pick out paint chips in case I decide to change the color of the walls.

As soon as I get home I’m going to start packing and arrange for a moving truck to pick up my things. I’ll take the cats with me and some clothing and essentials along with my favorite books and come cooking stuff. I can make do with very little and if I find I need something I have the money to buy it.

The night before I leave I can’t believe how the week has flown by. I’m sort of used to the time zone and just before midnight I drop off to sleep. I start having this bizarre dream where someone is knocking on my door and wake to hear someone pounding on the wooden panels.

“Who the fuck is that?” I mutter and wrap my robe around me and go to the door. “Yes,” I say, “What are you doing? Who the hell are you? I’ll call the police if you don’t go away.”

“Room service,” answers a voice and I open the door to see Rick standing there, smiling, ”I thought you’d never answer the door,” he said and takes me in his arms.


	43. For When I Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacey receives an unexpected visit from Rick and tells him she's decided to move to NY and has even rented an apartment. When he asks, she tells him met with Albert Grossman but does not tell her what she thinks of him. When she returns home she readies for the trip back to NY.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” I say and hug Rick tightly, not wanting to let him go, kissing him over and over on his heart-shaped lips. Then, suspicious, I pull away and ask, “What are you doing here, I thought you were on tour?”

“I’m glad to see you too, Dacy,” he says and laughs, “Our last gig wasn’t selling so well and when Albert told me you were in town, I convinced Levon to cancel so I could see you. He didn’t mind...much.” He leads me to the bed, sits and pulls me on his lap. “What did Albert tell you?”

I knew I would have to answer this question eventually, I just hadn’t planned on it being quite so soon. And to be quite frank, I hoped he didn’t ask me what I thought of him because I don’t think I like Albert Grossman very much even though he’s Rick’s manager.

The mere presence of the man is intimidating. He’s built like a bear, only this bear has long curly black hair streaked heavily with grey and shrewd brown eyes that seem to stare straight through you. Fortunately, one of the few useful things my father taught me was to always look someone in the eye and don’t let them intimidate you, ever.

The first thing he asked me if I was thinking of moving here. I told him yes, and that I liked this part of New York, though it would be a wrench to leave California. Fortunately he didn’t ask the reason, and I left out that I was doing it because of Rick, I assumed he knew or could guess.

He seemed impressed by my two years of college, I don’t think that was what he expected. He asked if I was planning on finishing school and seemed a little surprised to hear I was going to nursing school but nodded his approval when I told him I was planning on earning my BSN.

“He told me that as soon as I was settled in,” I said to Rick, “I should come and see him, I guess there’s more administrative work involved in recording studios than I thought. I can work days do night courses starting winter quarter, I’ve got science and math courses to make up. I hope I can start my RN program winter quarter, but I’ll have to wait and see.”

“So you’re moving here after all,” and his eyes gave me a cagey look.

“Yes, I am, I’ve even rented an apartment in Kingston, it’s about ten miles from Stoneridge where I’ll be going to school. I blame you for this, you know.”

He hugged me tightly, “I’m glad, you’re too far away and I don’t know how often I’d get to see you if you stayed in California. I won’t have to worry about something happening to you, I don’t think anyone is going to attack you in Kingston or Woodstock. I’d like to see your apartment, when are you leaving?”

“My flight’s at eleven tomorrow morning. I’ve got to leave at eight so I can drive to the airport and drop off my rental car.”

I laced my fingers through his. “Do you really want to do this? I mean, if you wanted to make a clean break with me now would be a good time. I don’t have to move here and I can eat the rental money I paid.”

He looks at me and says, “Let’s go to bed,” as if that should answer my question.

After not seeing him for so long he feels good and I don’t want to let go of him. He doesn’t want to let go of me either. He holds me tightly, rocking me a little in his arms, then kisses me. 

“God I missed you,” his tell me his eyes shining and sincere.

I run my finger underneath his jaw—he’s starting to get a double chin, if he gains any more weight it will start showing. Since he cut his hair and shaved his mustache, since he gained weight, sometimes he seems like someone else, not the whimsical crazy guy who swept me off my feet. But he holds me, kisses me, makes love to me and it assures me that it’s him and not a stranger. I miss the skinny guy with the facial hair, though, he was better looking and sexier than this one.

“When are you coming back?” he asks.

“Well, when I get home,” home for only a little while longer I remind myself, “I have to give notice at work and for my apartment, then start packing and arrange to get my stuff on a moving truck. Since I have an address, I can give tell the movers where to take my stuff or put it in storage temporarily, depending.” I cross my arms behind my head and lay back on the pillow. “I guess I’ll leave around the first of October. I ought to get here before the weather gets too bad.”

“Can’t you leave sooner?” he asks and nuzzles my neck, it tickles.

“Stop that! No, I can’t, I’ll be lucky if I’m ready by then. I’ll join Triple A and they’ll map out a route for me and send me hotel information and maps. I’m kind of looking forward to this, you know? This will be further than I’ve ever driven in my life.”

“Are you scared?”

“No,” I say firmly, “I’m not, maybe a little apprehensive but when I found that apartment I knew that this is what I’m supposed to do. I feel like this is meant to be, Rick, as crazy as that sounds—if I think about it it makes no sense but something seems to be propelling me forward.” 

“I think I knew when I met you,” he says in a quiet voice, “There was something about you, something I couldn’t put my finger on but I knew you were different, no, special.”

I like hearing this. “You crazy Ukrainian,” I tell him, and tug on his short hair, “You had me from the moment I saw you but I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“And now you’re moving to Kingston,” he smiles and kisses me. He has to leave soon and we both know it but we make love one more time to last us until I come back.

Before he leaves, he has me give him my new spare key and my address. I watch as he tucks it into his wallet, just like he did years ago when we first met. He’s going to arrange for a cord of firewood and some kindling to be delivered and take care of any repairs that need to be made. After all this time he still takes care of me.

We know we’ll be seeing each other in a month or so, but it’s hard to say goodbye all the same. He hugs me and gives me a deep, passionate kiss, then lets me go and disappears out the door. I stare at the door for a long time after he leaves, and realize I’m already missing him.

It seems like I’m leaving behind a dream I had as I make my way to the airport. There is a sense of unreality to all this. I try drawing myself back by turning on the radio and focusing on the amazing colors of a New York autumn. 

Being up late has made me tired and I sleep for much of my flight. I look at my watch and realize it is three hours earlier now and the sun has barely set and since I turned down the dinner they offered I am starving.

I grab my bags, the empty one I brought now has some winter clothes in it, and head to the lot where I parked my car. It starts a little reluctantly after sitting for a week and I decide to get a new battery before I leave.

I dread seeing Gina but I have to tell her what I’ve decided. The past few years she’s been hoping that my relationship with Rick would die a natural death but now I’ll be leaving in a few weeks. She won’t be happy and I won’t be with her when she has her baby.

But we don’t fight, we don’t want to. She’s even seeing me off which I appreciate since I’m having a major case of nerves. My bags and boxes are packed and loaded, the cats are complaining in their carriers, and I’ve got rush hour traffic to drive in. She gives me a big hug and pushes me into the car.

“Go,” she says.

I remember when I left Seattle I was running away but now I’m not running anymore, if I am I am running to something not away. I have a life waiting for me and I’m eager to embrace it even if I am afraid of what I’m doing.


	44. Hegira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacey arrives in New York

I know Rick wanted me to hurry but I could not bring myself to rush my trip to New York. I drove leisurely, taking time to take in the sights, enjoying the chance to see things I had never seen before.

In Arizona and New Mexico, I took time to visit Anasazi ruins, being careful to take the best pictures I could. There wasn’t much to take pictures of for the rest of the trip. When I got to New York I had wanted to show him pictures that documented my hegira, but it looked like there wasn’t going to be much to show him besides the ruins.

I am one of those people who don’t mind spending hours behind the wheel. I love driving my little Mustang. It has a V-8 that is kind of hard on gas mileage but it loves the road. I was going to trade it in on a Jeep because that would be more practical in the New England winters, but I’m glad I didn’t. 

The cats were mostly quiet in their carriers, except for the occasional complaint. I felt sorry for their having to stay in their carriers, but each night I’d let them out so they could stretch their legs.

I was perfectly happy making this drive alone. I could stop when I pleased, eat when I pleased and could listen to music or drive in silence when it pleased me. Solitude has never bothered me and this was the perfect opportunity to spend time alone.

The first part of my trip had been spent driving through the Southwest states with their bare rocky outcrops or deserts. When I reached Oklahoma and Nebraska it was wild and uninhabited prairie. Now I had reached the midwestern states, which were green and full of crops being harvested in a flat landscape that stretched on for miles.

The reality of what I was doing struck me when I crossed the Mississippi in Missouri. I saw the Arch in St. Louis standing like a sentinel, reminding me that I had truly left all that I was familiar with behind.

I followed the states that bordered the Great Lakes, as if I was on a path that was leading me to New York and my new life. There were small towns and farms dotting the landscape but the closer I grew to Chicago the larger the towns grew and soon I began seeing trains, passenger and freight, on tracks that sometimes bordered the highway.

Occasionally the trains would blow their whistles—actually horns—causing the cats to yowl for several minutes. I loved the sound, in the summers my mother would drive us to her great aunt’s house in Illinois and across the street, past a large corn field there was a train track. We would sit in the porch swing, counting the cars, hoping that the train would blow its whistle. I wondered then, as now, just where these mystery trains were going.

In Chicago I found a hotel that would allow the cats and decided to rest for a couple of days. The concierge directed me to a Dillard’s apartment store and with the help of a clerk bought the things I would need for a winter wardrobe, warm sweaters, socks, silky long underwear. I purchased a couple of dresses and skirts so I’d have something nice to go out in, and a warm coat to wear with them. She told me of a LL Bean store nearby where I could purchase a parka and boots that would keep my feet warm and dry.

My California clothes were packed in a trunk on the moving truck. It seemed like a lifetime away from me. It was growing colder by the day and I was grateful for the warm clothes I had purchased but as the temperature dropped, I started wondering, not for the first time, just what I had gotten myself into.

I looked out over Lake Michigan into the Chicago night. It occurred to me that just over the lakes was southern Ontario, the place where Rick had grown up. I wondered where he was, where he was playing, who he was with. Would I be seeing him soon? Would he try to find me as he so often did? 

I realized how close to New York I was now. It would take me less than a day to drive across it and to my new home. I felt paralyzed, frozen, suddenly scared but not understanding why. I’ve made this trip because I want to be with him, right? I love him, there’s no one else I’d rather be with, so why do I feel this way?

Before I left, I had gone to San Francisco to see Bob Weir. I know he wasn’t in favor of my moving, but he understood. I’d half expected some disapproval but he’d surprised me.  
“Maybe not the smartest thing to do, babe, but I get it. You’ve got to follow your heart sometimes and stop listening to your head—or to other people. I can tell how much you love him from the look in your eyes when you talk about him. Sometimes the right thing to do is to not listen to what people are telling you and to follow your heart instead.” He leaned down and kissed me, “I’m going to miss you, but I couldn’t lose you to a nicer guy.”

Robbie came to see me, too. For over an hour he tried to talk me out of moving but at last he gave up and kissed me instead. Really kissed me and started taking off my clothes and I let him. This had been in the air for a long time and I’d known somehow that we would do it someday. It was almost like we had to. I don’t know how he was getting along with his wife at the time and if that had anything to do with it, but no, it didn’t. There had always been this unspoken thing between Robbie and I, maybe now it could be put to rest.

I sighed and closed the hotel room curtains. I slid into bed and the cats joined me, I found their warmth comforting. I’d be there in a couple of days if I didn’t dawdle anymore. I was tired of eating at restaurants—for the moment—and tired of spending hours cooped up in the car listening to the cats yowl. This had been a long strange trip and I was eager for it to be over.

I could have driven straight to Kingston but I spent the night in Rochester. Part of it was fatigue, part, I told myself, was to catch my breath, but the basis of it was cowardice. I could have driven another three and a half hours and gotten there, but I wasn’t ready. This was way too real now; I had left my friends and my beloved California to follow my married lover all the way across the country to be with him. Not only did I wonder if I was crazy, I knew I was, but it was too late now. My new apartment, and Rick, awaited me..

I woke up after a restless night’s sleep. I fed the cats and jumped into the shower, trying to wash the cobwebs from my brain. It was nine o’clock and though I’d hoped I’d sleep later than I did, I wanted nothing more than to get my stuff loaded into the car and get on the road. I wanted to get this over with, I’d be in Kingston in a few hours and I could begin .

I loaded the cats and luggage into the car, the cats glaring at me through the grate of the carrier. “It’s only a little while longer, kids, if I can do this so can you!” They said nothing but seemed to hunker down when I put their carriers into the car and went back inside to check out.

I asked about restaurants along the highway and the clerk assured me that there were some good ones, giving me a name or two to watch for. Then, not sure if I was ready for this or not, I got into my car and turned the key, ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

I drove straight through, except for the stop I what I planned to be a leisurely breakfast. The coffee and the food came too soon. I hadn’t planned to eat so quickly but my food seemed to disappear as if by magic. By ten-thirty I was back in my car, pointing it in the direction of the Catskills and my new home in Kingston.

By three-thirty I was sitting in front of my new home, no quite ready to go in. I was afraid of what I would see, but the sight that met my eyes was pleasant, almost reassuring.

It must have been home to a well-off family because the house seemed large and roomy. While I was gone it had been painted and was now a sparkling white. It had seemed a friendly place at first but now my nose was twitching and I wondered if it was haunted, giving its age and the progression of people who might have lived there once. Old houses come with ghosts, and if this one did, I could only hope they were friendly or at least would leave me alone.

I took the cat carriers out of the car and unlocked the door. I opened the door and a pleasant warmth met me. Rick or someone had turned on the heat just enough to keep it from feeling cold and damp in here. I walked up the stairs to the living room and noticed that someone had put an old loveseat in there, along with an equally old table and a serviceable lamp. Leave it to Rick to think of these things, it would be weeks before my stuff got here so he had seen to my comfort.

The bedroom held an old cherry wood armoire and an inflatable bed still in its box. The armoire had more room than the little closet and two drawers at the bottom. I would pay him back for this, I decided, it couldn’t have been cheap but I didn’t know about second hand and antique stores around here. He’d made a stark room seem homey and now I had a bed to sleep on.

He’d done other little things to help me feel comfortable but best of all was the chicken, steaks, and ground beef he’d put in the freezer. The fridge held a couple bottles of a good white wine, not California or even west cost but nice all the same. 

I shut the cats in the bedroom, opening the doors to their carriers so they could venture out when they were ready. I clattered down the stairs, wanting to get the car unloaded while I still had the momentum, almost running into a blond woman who had was making her way up the stairs.

“Hi,” she said, she had a friendly toothy smile, “My name’s Kat, I’m your downstairs neighbor, could you use some help?”

She’s not Gina, but I think I’ve made a friend.


	45. Home at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacey meets her new neighbor who may or may not know the true nature of her relationship with Rick. When a certain person shows up she feels like she is finally home at last.

I looked at the stranger standing in front of me, hesitated for a moment, then held out my hand, “I’m Dacey,” I said, “I guess I’m your new neighbor.” 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Kat replied, “Your boyfriend said you’d be arriving any day now.” How had Rick known that? Maybe he’d called Gina. 

“Well, I took my time getting here, but here I am at last. Are you sure about wanting to help, I just have to unload my car?” 

“I’ve moved one than once, you can always use help. Just tell me what you want me to take and where to put it, we’ll have this done before you know it.” 

To be honest, I was glad for her help. I had almost decided to leave unpacking until the next day. I had boxes of everything that could fit in my car and garment bags full of clothes. Getting them inside was only half the battle, I always unpacked more slowly than I packed. Between the two of us we got the boxes put away, and hung my garment bags in the armoire. After we finished, we collapsed on the loveseat and heaved sighs in unison. 

“I need a drink,” she groaned. 

“Me too, I answered, “But I can fix that, Rick left me a couple of bottles Pinot Grigio. I think I can find some glasses. I have something else, too.” I went into my bedroom and pulled one of the pre-rolled joints that I’d brought along for the journey out of my purse. I didn’t know if she smoked, but If she’d gotten a glimpse of Rick, she might guess that I did. 

“Here,” I held up the number, “I don’t know if you smoke weed or not, but I could really use this.” 

“Well, I usually don’t but it sounds good. Tell you what, I have a crab casserole in the oven and green salad we could have for dinner.” 

“That sounds great, I’ll supply the wine and the appetizer in exchange for dinner. It’s the least I could do in exchange for your help, and the food.” 

She had a way with crab that a gourmet chef would envy. It was my first introduction to lump crab and although I prefer king or Dungeness it was good. We killed half of the wine and all of the joint, then sat on her sofa and talked, getting to know each other. 

I asked her where I could get my phone and cable hookup. I told her I left my old tv behind and she knew of an appliance store where I could pick out a new one. I felt embarrassed that I was imposing her but she assured me she was glad to help. She’d taken some vacation days and didn’t really have anything to do. 

She began to ask me questions about Rick and I wondered how much to say. She’d grown up in Woodstock and was familiar with the Band, but I didn’t know how much of his personal life she knew about. I know he liked to play in the local bars, more for fun than the money, and that Elizabeth accompanied him at times. I wondered if she’d seen the two of them at a gig. 

I think that Rick had left Kat with the impression that he and I were together, leaving me to wonder just how much she knew. She’d told me she was married what would she think if she knew about Elizabeth? 

She took a sip of wine, “How did you meet this guy?” she asked me. 

“Well, I met him at Shangri La Studios when I was 23. It was lust at first sight and I didn’t expect to see him again or for us to be together eight years later. He broke up with me before he moved back here, but about six months later he came back and asked me to move to New York. My answer to that was no, but I was attacked about 3 blocks from my apartment one night and beat up pretty bad. He came to see me and was shocked, then insisted that I move.” I smiled ruefully, “I love California, but after the attack, I didn’t feel safe. So, here I am.” 

“He’s really fond of you, you know” said Kat, “He was worried when you hadn’t shown up yet. But after eight years why aren’t you at least living together?” 

I took a deep breath, not sure if I was ready to divulge the truth. “We like our relationship the way it is. I think we work because we keep a space between us.” I looked down at my hands, “We fit, but being around him all the time would drive me crazy. He drinks too much, he smokes too much, his drug consumption is scary. I love him to death, I do, but I need my space. I’ve always worked, I’m not dependent on him and I wouldn’t want to be.” 

“Maybe being apart like you are keeps you together.” She reached over and patted my knee, “As far as I can tell he loves you and you love him. Maybe that’s enough.” 

I let out a sigh of relief, if she hadn’t guessed that Rick was with someone else maybe I’d dodged a bullet. The whole truth could wait for another time. 

About eleven o’clock we were both half drunk and half stoned and had trouble keeping our eyes open. I bid her good night and headed upstairs to my new apartment. When I opened the door I half expected, no I wanted, to see Rick standing there but he wasn’t, so I inflated my bed and grabbed the sleeping bag I’d bought and passed out until I was wakened by the cats scratching at the door wanting to be fed. 

Thanks to my vitamin B-complex I didn’t have a hangover the next day. I took a shower and began going through my boxes until I heard a knocking at my door. 

I opened it and saw her standing there, shadows under her eyes. “I’m kind of hung over,” she laughed, “What about you?” 

“I’ll have to introduce you to my hangover prevention—a large dose of vitamin B-complex, works for me every time. Should we put off my errands until you feel better?” 

“No,” she said, a most emphatic no, “I’ll feel better and if I stay at home, I’ll only think about how terrible I feel. I took some Alka Seltzer and I’m feeling a little better. Let’s get something to eat, that should help. Next time I’m definitely going to try out that vitamin B.” 

We went to the café I’d found my first day in Kingston. I opted for my usual big breakfast while she had poached eggs on toast, along with a piece of my bacon. 

“How do you eat like that and stay so slim?” she asked as she watched me devour my food. 

“Well, I got used to an active lifestyle in California. I run, ride my bike, and work out—I'm going to have to find a gym, do you know of any?” She shrugged her shoulders; exercise must not be high on her list of priorities. “I am really going to miss surfing, I did that a lot, too. I’m in good shape, but I have to work at it. I used to drive Rick nuts—his idea of exercise is fucking and getting up on stage and playing.” 

She laughed at this, well, it is funny. “Maybe I’ll join that gym and work out with you. Come on, let’s pay the check and get going. It shouldn’t take us long to run your errands, I’m going to show you the sights. It’s pretty here and I think you’ll grow to love it, snowy winters and all. You can’t surf here, but you don’t have to go far to find places to ski.” 

It didn’t take long to take care of business. I signed up for my phone and my cable, then picked out a tv that I spent a little more on than I’d intended. That left the rest of the day free for her to show me around Woodstock. 

She knew this place like the back of her hand. I was pretty ignorant about New York; all I could really visualize was New York City but that was it. I’d checked out some places when I was last here, but she knew every little corner of this area. 

The Ashokan Reservoir blew me away. After living in California for eight years I had forgotten it was possible to see so much water in one place. Overlook Mountain was beautiful, and there were some trails I’d like to hike, but we would have to save it for another day. 

It was strange what people called mountains here. Compared to the Cascades and the Sierras they seemed like big hills, but geologically they were also very old. No volcanos to erupt here, no frequent earthquakes like I’d gotten used to. Living in LA I’d grown to expect the Santa Annas, the quakes, the floods, things would be much quieter here. 

We at dinner at a small café in Woodstock that was built over a rocky stream. The food was good, I had no complaints about my trout meuniere and she had a small steak and baked potato. It was a peaceful end to a tiring day and I discovered she might turn into a good friend; she had certainly been generous with her time. 

We’d finished off our first glasses of wine when she looked at me and said, “I know he has a girlfriend; they live on a farm not too far from here.” Did you know was not said but implied. 

“Yes, I know, I pretty much had that figured out from the beginning. I didn’t know what he was doing with me, but he just wasn’t going away and I wasn’t inclined to ask him to.” 

“Didn’t you feel guilty?” Don’t you feel guilty was what she meant. 

“Yes, and no. People who know her tell me I’m not like her, not at all. I’m softer, gentler, but believe me, I’m no pushover. When I realized he wouldn’t go away unless I told him to, I said look, if you’re going to be a part of my life, this is what I want. I also told him I would stay out of their relationship and I meant it. When he left me, I thought that was going to be it, I wasn’t prepared for him to come back. Now I’m starting to feel like I really need him and I don’t like it. I mean, I love him but I’m not sure of what I want.” 

“Well, he’s crazy for you, I can tell you that but is he good for you? Is moving here what you really want?” 

I sighed, “Well, I don’t feel like I’m always having to look over my shoulder now, that’s a good thing. I don’t know if staying here will be possible. It’s harder to find good jobs in small towns. I’m studying nursing but I don’t know how much money I can make here. I just got here, I told him I’d give it a chance, I can always leave if I don’t like it.” 

“I’m a nurse, I know about work opportunities here. You might like it, you know, and you and Rick might grow apart, it happens.” 

I don’t know if that reassured me or not. 

When we got back, I went upstairs, turning down her offer to help me unpack. I plugged in the pump to inflate my new mattress and laughed as the cats scattered, startled by the noise. I’d found an old quilt, neglected but clean in one of the drawers of the armoire and laid it on top of the mattress, then opened my sleeping bag and put it on top. The addition of the pillows made it look like I was tent camping, but I didn’t mind. 

I looked around at the boxes. I hate unpacking, it’s so much easier to pack but I knew I’d feel like I’d accomplished something when I got it done. Tomorrow I would dig out my bedding and my soft Egyptian cotton sheets and quilt. Little by little it would start looking homey, and when the moving truck arrived, I’d once more have my stuff and feel more at home. 

I was ready to get undressed and shoo the cats out of the room when I heard his footsteps. The door at the top of the stairs creaked as it was opened and I ran out of the bedroom to meet him. 

He smiled and put his arms around me, lifting me off the floor, laughing. I jumped up and wrapped my legs around his waist as tightly as I could, inhaling the odor of cigarette as I buried my nose in his hair. 

We didn’t say anything, we didn’t need to—hadn't we played out this scenario dozens of times before? Now I knew I was truly home at last, for home was where he was.


	46. We're Getting the Band Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two months apart, Rick and Dacey are reunited. He tells her the progress with getting the Band back together is not progressing as quickly as planned. She tries to tell him that Richard is fragile and if he starts drinking again he may not survive. She takes her new friend Kat to see them play at a bar in Woodstock and is pleased to see Levon and Richard again

I held Rick tightly, afraid that if I let go, he’d disappear like in a dream. I didn’t release my grip even as he laid me down on the bed. We were so hungry for each other that tore our clothes off like we were a couple of adolescents and began to make love in silence, not saying anything because there was no need. 

When we finished, he rolled over on his side, pulling me with him, “God I’ve missed you,” he said, “I’ve been waiting for you to get here, what took you so long?” 

“I needed to take my time. The closer I got to New York the scarier it became. There were a couple of times when I wondered if I should turn around and head back.” I pushed myself up on one elbow, “When I hit Chicago, I realized that this was real, that I was leaving my old life behind. I took a few days, bought a winter wardrobe, then got in the car and decided there was no turning back. I wasn’t leaving home; I was going home.” 

I know he doesn’t get this. Rick makes a decision then that’s it. No wavering or deliberating, in true Capricorn fashion his mind is set. Me, even after considering all angles and all sides I still hesitate, not sure of what I should do. He’s a Capricorn, he likes to run things and forgets he doesn’t make my decisions for me--I’m not Elizabeth. I love him, I do, but I think it’s best that he’s with someone else because we’d be butting heads a lot. Taurus versus Capricorn, hard to tell who’s more stubborn. 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” I tell him, “I kept my word and I’m here.” 

He kisses me, “Yes, you’re here, finally. I’ve been waiting...” 

“I know,” I interrupt, “I had no way of getting in touch with you otherwise I would have called. Oh, and thank you for the stuff you got me. That boom box is going to save me, I really miss my stereo. I love that armoire and I’m going to pay you back.” 

“You don’t pay back gifts. I’m glad you like it, I wondered why you chose a place with so little closet space.” 

“Because the moment I saw it I fell in love. I walked in here, Rick, and I swear I’d come home. I’ve never even seen any place like this, let alone have the chance to live in it. When I walked in, I knew this was meant to be mine.”. 

I needed to change the subject and saw no other way but to plunge right in, “Tell me, how are the plans for getting the band back together, are things coming together?” 

“I knew you were going to ask me,” he sighed, “Things are going slow. I’m gigging with Richard and after the new year Levon and I are going to do some dates. We’re pretty sure it will happen, Garth said he’s on board. We’ve got commitments to fulfill then we have to take care of the legal stuff, and then there’s rehearsing and figuring out our sets.” 

“And booking dates, I know. How many times have I watched this happen when you were with the band, then your solo gigs? I was just hoping that this would happen sooner. Has Robbie given his okay?” 

“We haven’t approached him yet, we wanted to make sure this would be possible. We’re pretty sure he will give his okay, no reason for him not to—it's not like we’re asking him to join us.” 

And if he doesn’t, I thought, if he even dares say no, I’ll fly back to California and do everything I can to make sure he does. He must understand that they need this. Breaking up the band benefitted no one but himself and he knows it. I understand why, after a fashion, I think he needed to get away but the others paid the price. If I have to fuck him I will although I don’t really want to. 

“How’s Richard doing?” I worry about him, Richard is fragile, any stress could break him like glass. I know that he’d sobered up but he wasn’t in therapy or even AA. Richard needs support, not the party atmosphere of touring. I heard him say once that he was the party and I was afraid that if he didn’t get help—soon—he was going to fall off the wagon. I don’t see much hope for Richard. 

Rick doesn’t believe me. “He’s doing all right, he’s still clean. Why don’t you believe he’ll be okay?” 

“He has death in his eyes,” I said as Rick narrowed his eyes at me, “He’s like a hothouse flower, you have to take care of him. He’s not strong, Rick, you know that. All those years of drinking and the drugs have taken their toll on him, physically and emotionally. I think he’s going to relapse and if he does, you’re going to lose him.” 

“Dacy, you’re crazy. I know you worry about Richard but I can’t believe he’d kill himself, if that’s what you mean.” 

“Alcohol’s a depressant, a powerful one. He’s been drinking for so long it’s going to take years for his body to detox, if it can. He told me that he had an enlarged liver and he hoped that quitting would get it back to normal. He needs help and he won’t get it—it scares me. AA is no substitute for a therapist who specializes in treating alcoholics, but he’d get support there from people who’ve been there. I have an alcoholic mother; I’ve seen this before. If things don’t go the way he hopes he could break down and start drinking again. And his new wife isn’t good for him—she didn’t exactly discourage his alcohol and drug use, now did she?” 

“Don’t borrow trouble, Dacey, Richard will be fine. You had an awful time with your family and you let it cloud your judgment. If Richard has problems...” 

“When he has problems, not if, Rick, when. Richard’s grip on life is tenuous, you can tell by the hurt in his eyes. I’m afraid you’re going to lose him.” Tears were forming in my eyes and Rick held me closer. 

“I didn’t come here to discuss Richard, things are looking up, you’ll see. Levon and I will do our shows and when we’re done, we’ll get the band ready and tour again. We’ve put out some feelers and have an idea where we’ll start. It’s going to be all right, you’ll see. Have some faith.” 

I let him hold me and nod my head. Sure, everything will be fine except that it won’t. My sixth sense is buzzing and I want to tell him to convince Richard to check into treatment and stay until he gets his act together. I don’t care if he has to go into debt, I just know he needs it. 

“I love you,” I tell Rick, “I’m so glad I’m here, I couldn’t bear being so far away from you.” 

This is what he wants to hear, not my warnings about Richard. I don’t know if he’s paid attention to anything, I told him. He’s going to lose Richard but he’s too stubborn to believe it. 

He goes to the bathroom to clean up. He’s going to leave me to go home to Elizabeth like always. Some things never change and I’ve made my choice. 

He comes out of the bathroom and scribbles some words on a piece of paper. “Here’s where I’m playing this weekend. Elizabeth will be there but Richard will be glad to see you. Levon and Butter may sit in too—Lee's been asking when you’re going to get here. Just ignore Butter and you’ll be okay.” He kisses me then nuzzles his nose in my hair, “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart, I was afraid you’d change your mind and stay in Venice.” 

I nod, tears welling in my eyes, I wonder why I’m so damn emotional. He wipes them away with one of is long fingers then kisses my forehead and disappears out the door. Just like old times. 

The next day I get the name of Kat’s hairdresser and have her cut my hair to just above the middle of my back. She foils it with red and gold highlights and I look at the new me in the mirror. The bangs are the same but highlights play up my eyes. I want to look different; I need to look different and the stranger staring back at me in the mirror is comforting. 

I ask Kat to come with me and she says yes, she knows the bar where they’re playing. I dig out the dress he bought me for the Last Waltz, not worn since that night. I wear my new velvet jacket and put on the little diamond star necklace he bought me. 

Kat’s wearing a black angora sweater and red jeans and looks very fetching. We take my car and drive to the bar he’s playing at in Woodstock. There are quite a few cars in the parking lot, so I can feel safe and hidden in the crowd. 

He must have told someone to look out for me—I'm on the guest list with a “plus friend.” We get our hands stamped and go inside the bar and order drinks only to find out someone’s paid for them when I try to pay. 

The boys come on stage, Rick looking around and not for Elizabeth who’s near the front. He gives me a smile when he sees me and I hope Elizabeth didn’t see. Other than that, I’m enjoying myself, I haven’t been out in a long time and it feels good to be noticed. It doesn’t take long for Kat and me to be asked to dance and I try to keep my mind off the guy on stage who’s watching my every move. 

When they finish their first set Levon comes and gives me a big hug. “Purty as ever,” he says and gives me his toothy smile. I introduce him to Kat and he makes a big show of kissing her hand. Richard comes over and gives me hug but Rick stays a discreet distance away but every so often catches my eye and gives me a meaningful look. I’m happy we came, if I had any doubts they’ve disappeared. 

We leave before last call and I allow myself one last look at the bar as we drive off. Kat looks at me, then says, “I can see life is not going to be dull with you around. Just think, when my husband returns, I’ll have to go back to being a boring married woman.” 

“Not so boring,” I reply, “And you’re lucky you’re married to him. I have to share Rick with her, it’s not always a lot of fun.” 

“Ever think about trying to break them up?” she suggests. 

“Nope, I made a promise when we first got together and I’m keeping it. I think that would be the death of our relationship if I even tried. I think my karma’s bad enough, I lost a kid and now I can’t have any. Better to just leave things alone and get out if I can’t take it.”


	47. Marry Me, Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was started before I put it on hold. Not much in the way of readers so I thought I'd sneak it in her. The chapter is self explanatory

I got my first glimpse of him in the registrar’s office when I went to sign up for winter quarter. He was having trouble getting into a class he wanted and was trying to convince the girl at the counter to try to help him. 

She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “I’m sorry, I’d love to help but there’s nothing really I can do.” And I could tell she’d like to help, he’s good looking even though he’s only a little taller than me and on the pudgy side, but he’s got dark hair and perfect white skin and these narrow eyes with iris the most unusual color of color of blue I’ve ever seen. And beneath the extra flesh on his face he’s got nice bone structure. 

He’s silent for a moment, then gives her a killer smile. “Is there someone you could ask?” he cajoles her, “I really need this class.” 

She looks thoughtful, then says, “Just a minute,” and disappears. She comes back and says, “They can make room for one more, you’re lucky you came in now, if you’d been later I couldn't have done it.” He gives her that smile again and touches her hand. It was that easy. 

Bet she couldn’t have found room if it had been me. He leaves, gives me a look and the smile on his way out. He doesn’t say anything, he just smiles. He’s a charmer, just like Rick and for a moment I entertain the thought of trying to seduce him. Rick’s on tour and I’m spending too many lonely nights alone. 

I go to the bookstore and buy my textbooks. They are way over priced but I need them. I’m having to make up a lot of math and science and I’m going to need a tutor to help me get through them. Biology won’t be too bad, I’ve already taken geology, but chemistry is going to be a killer. Anything that requires math defeats me. 

There’s a message from Rick on my machine when I get home. They’re taking some days off before they hit the road again and he wants to see me. He doesn’t know when but he’ll let me know. I think about the cutie in the registrar’s office, then I think about Rick and how he makes me feel and I know who wins that contest, hands down. For now. 

School starts in January; I am both scared and excited. I’m having to pay more for tuition since I am not a resident but I don’t mind. The more I think about this the more convinced I am that this is the right thing. Rick is coming around, finally, and tells me that he admires me for the goals I’ve set. I think a part of him wishes he could take care of me so I wouldn’t have to work but I’d probably still go to school and try to find something to bring in extra money. 

I wonder if the cutie is going into the nursing program. He looks like he’s about 25 or 26, either he’s been working or maybe he’s heading back to school because what he studied the first time isn’t making him any money. Maybe he wants to use nursing as a jump start to medical school. If so, I admire him, med school would be too much damn work and takes too long. I’ll stick with nursing. 

It’s been a lonely Christmas, New Years, and Thanksgiving for me, which has become my norm. Sometimes I’ll visit and share holidays with friends so I won’t feel so lonely. Rick knows this is hard on me but we don’t know how to deal with it. If he can he will try to find a chance to see me and is pretty good about making the effort. He always gives me something nice for Christmas and for New year's makes sure I find a party to attend, he hates the thought of me sitting home alone. 

Rick shows up on a Wednesday night, hyper from being on the road and whisks me into the bedroom as soon as he comes in the door. Not that it’s an unusual situation, but most of the time we talk for a while and catch up with what’s going on with each other. Not tonight, he’s got me in the bedroom and has my clothes off before I even have time for a drink. Hey, I miss him too. 

Making love slows him down somewhat and he asks me how getting ready for school is going. I tell him little stories about people that I’ve met and how I seem to be older than everyone in school—which isn’t true but makes him smile. 

There’s just enough time for us to hold each other for a while. We make the most of this time because we will have to wait until their next break to see each other again. I miss him dreadfully when he’s gone so school is going to be a big help, the more class time I have and the more homework the better—I need to keep my mind occupied. 

He bounces up, gets dressed, then tells me he has to go. I throw on my robe and we walk arm in arm to the door. He kisses me goodbye and is gone. He doesn’t ask if I can come see him while he’s touring, we both know I can’t. I’m determined to do well in school and I’m not going to fuck it up. 

Rick is off again to tour and I’ve started school—at last—and the cute guy and I have two classes together. I watch as he flirts with and hits on the younger girls and wonder how many hearts he’s broken? He’s a lothario, a dog, but the girls don’t seem to hold their broken hearts against him. I’ve seen him talking to one of his rejects—he puts his arm around her and gives her a hug and a smile and all bad feelings seem to be forgotten. 

Glad it’s not me. He’s hitting on eighteen and nineteen-year old girls and I’m going to be thirty-two in a few months. I think I’m immune because he doesn’t give me any more attention than you’d give to a casual friend until the last day of class. 

After we finish our final, he comes up to me and asks if I’d like to get a cup of coffee. I look at him, noticing for the first time his face is more oval than round and the word, “Sure” comes out of my mouth. I can’t be certain that is what I thought I’d say. 

“Do you want to go the coffee shop here or somewhere off campus. There’s a place I like to go that’s a few blocks from here, if that sounds all right.” 

“Sure.” Why am I answering in mono-syllables? He makes me nervous, that’s why. He’s too damn cute and I’ve only seen Rick a couple of times during winter quarter. I’m glad they have gigs that are keeping them busy, Rick needs it. He has asked me to join him a couple of times but I’m busy with school—and serious about it. He was a little surprised that I turned him down, but he respected it. 

“I’m parked in the south parking lot, what about you?” 

“I’m north, since it’s closer why don’t I give you a ride to your car.” He was amenable but now I’m starting to wonder what I’m doing. No matter, I’m more or less committed now. 

“Nice Mustang,” he’s impressed by my car and it makes me warm a little to him. “Have you had trouble keeping warm in it?” 

“A little, but I have a good heater. I almost exchanged it for something else, but I love convertibles. Get in and tell me where to find your car.” 

He drives an older Oldsmobile, but it’s in nice shape. I follow him, wondering how I’ll remember all the turns that he’s taking until he pulls into the parking lot of a brick building with a sign that says “The Bean”. 

“The coffee here is great, I come here to study in the winter if I get tired of sitting at home. 

He’s right about the coffee, I get a mocha that is topped with a rich head of foam and when I take a sip, I don’t mind that it’s too hot, it tastes that good. After making mundane comments about the coffee we start the delicate process of asking each other questions. 

He’s from Virginia. He had a masters in drama but wasn’t making any money with it so he decided to go back to school. He wants to go to med school, but his parents are only popping for nursing school right now. They’re paying for his education, I guess his family has money but he doesn’t come out and say so. 

We’re sitting next to a window and as we talk it starts to snow. “Isn’t it ever going to stop,” I complain, “I’ve missed California since winter set in, I’d kill to see the thermometer hit seventy degrees. It seems like winter doesn’t want to end.” 

He laughed, but it was a friendly laugh, “Then why did you leave California and come here. We have real seasons out here. Wait until you see our autumns.” 

“I’ve seen them, I came out here to see if I thought I might want to live here.” I don’t mention Rick yet, “I’ve never seen a New England fall before, the colors were amazing. There’s a lot of palm trees in Los Angeles and if they lose their leaves it means they’re dying. I miss the ocean, and surfing, and real Mexican food.” 

“Then why are you here?” he’s pressing me and I don’t know how to answer. 

“Well, there’s this person, he’s married so I don’t think you can call it a relationship.” I pause, wondering how I’m going to explain it or if I should, “Maybe it’s sort of one but there’s no ownership. He’d broken things off with me but he came to see me and told me he wanted me to move here so I’d be closer. 

“I wasn’t sure about that, I loved Calfornia, but I was assaulted a few blocks from my house and beat up pretty badly. He came to see me and freaked out when he saw me. After that, it was pretty easy for him to convince me.” 

“Look,” I leaned forward, “Leaving was my decision. I wasn’t feeling safe anymore, always looking over my shoulder and I hated it. I’d lived in California for almost nine years, I thought that maybe it was time for me to leave, you know, let go. And I do like it here, I’ve never seen so much snow and though I hated it sometimes, it’s as pretty here as a picture postcard. And I don’t feel scared anymore,” I added. 

“So,” he persisted, “have you seen other men while you were with him?” 

I’m starting to feel angry but I’m not blaming him, the questions don’t feel unreasonable. “A few times,” I admitted, “I don’t know how he feels about it, but he’s married after all so he would be hypocritical to object. There hasn’t been a romance but I guess you could call the men I slept with friends. I’m starting to think I’m telling you too much.” 

“I just want to know if I have any competition,” his response is straightforward and honest, “I’ve wanted to ask you out all quarter but I didn’t know if you’d be interested.” 

“Well, I don’t think I have much in common with the girls I’ve seen you hang out with. You don’t seem to lack for female company.” 

His face turns a shade of light pink flushing his cheeks—his whole face doesn’t turn red and it’s almost kind of pretty. Rick’s face will turn red, especially if he’s been drinking, but he doesn’t blush too often. I’m sort of embarrassed at what I said but we’re both laughing. 

“I wanted it to be you, but I didn’t have the nerve to approach you. I didn’t know how you felt about younger men but I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time.” 

This is nice, I think, and he seems interested and I’m starting to realize I’m might be, too. I’m surprised but a lot of women date younger men, I’m just not sure if I want to open that door. 

“What if I were to ask you to dinner, tonight?” he says and for the first time I don’t know what to say.


	48. Dinner and a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was on hold--and it is--but this chapter wouldn't leave my head so I wrote it and since I wrote it decided to post it

Dinner? He wants to take me to dinner? I’m caught off guard by a twenty-five-year-old, I don’t think that’s ever happened. 

Dinner is serious, dinner means maybe sex. Coffee, lunch, they're harmless, dinner is fraught with danger. He slips his hand over mine, caressing it gently and I want to pull it away but I feel almost hypnotized by his touch. 

It’s been a long time since Rick took me to dinner, the last person was Bob Weir. Now Bill is smiling at me, turning on the charm like he did to the girl in the registrar’s office and I’m starting to melt. 

“Okay,” I say, “As long as it’s just dinner I’ll go with you—what time?” I glance at my watch: three-thirty, restaurants won’t be open just yet. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear a dress if you have one—that's just in case you’re wondering what you should wear. Oh, by the way, I’m not making any promises.” He gives me a wicked smile and I realize I’m smitten. I haven’t fallen in love with him or out of love with Rick, a nine-year relationship doesn’t end just because of a tempting smile. After all, I’m rather smitten with Bob Weir too. 

He picks me up a little after seven as I put the finishing touches on my makeup. He's dressed in wool blazer and slacks because the night is cold. When he sees me. he gives me an appreciative smile; I'm wearing a black dress with a gold best and a paisley scarf around my neck. My boot heels make me taller than him, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You look nice," he says as helps me with my coat and I warm to him a little more. 

He has an old Cutlass but it’s in spotless condition. He tells me to go through his tapes and pick out something that I like. That’s a very smart move on his part, most guys don’t bother to ask. I see the “Brown Album” and put it in the cassette player—I'm safe because he doesn’t know that the bass player is my lover of nine years. If he likes “The Band” that’s a good sign, I think that having the same taste in music is important. 

"Have you ever been to Albany"? he asks and I shake my head. My familiarity with New York consists of the immediate area around Woodstock. Stoneridge is as far as I've been. "You'll like it, I think, there's a nice restaurant I'm going to take you to. It only takes an hour and it's quit snowing, it's a nice night for a drive." He pauses, "I didn't realize you lived in Kingston, I do too, we're not very far from each other." 

“Oh, what a coincidence,” I say, smiling, trying to hide the fact that it’s closer than I want to be to him. I don’t mind going out with him, maybe I won’t even mind going to bed with him but I don’t want him in such close proximity. 

Will I go to bed with him tonight? I’m not sure but when he reaches over and holds my hand it feels like a caress even through his glove. I make up my mind to enjoy myself and not think about the “what ifs”? I know he’d like me to move over and sit next to him on the seat but I’m not ready for that. Maybe after dinner? 

We don’t talk much during the drive but it’s not an uncomfortable silence, more like a companionable one. He sings along to “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” in a nice tenor voice. During “Jemima” he sings the line, “Jemima surrender, I’m gonna give it to you,” and looks at me and smiles. Oh, really, I think, well maybe I’ll let you. 

I expected to feel awkward, I don’t, maybe since the drive is only about an hour there’s no time. He pulls in front of an Italian restaurant and hands the valet the keys, then helps me out. 

“We don’t have much in the way of Thai or Mexican restaurants,” he says, “I thought Italian might be a good compromise.” 

“It is,” I say as he takes my hand and we go in. This place is nice, but not too formal, which I like. The waiter gives us our menus and he orders a carafe of Chianti. 

“Don’t know how much you want to drink, but splitting a carafe shouldn’t get us too drunk,” he teases and I smile. I can drink quite a bit, but I don’t like to. It drives Rick crazy that I don’t try harder to keep up with him. 

The waiter returns with our wine and two glasses then waits for us to have a glass before he takes our order. Bill orders lasagna while I order prosciutto and asiago tortelloni with red sauce. Yum. 

While we wait for our food, he starts asking me questions: where did I live before I moved to California? (Seattle) Did I attend college anywhere? (yes, the UW but I was tired of going to school and neglected my studies, so I dropped out before I flunked out) What made me decide to go move to California? (I’ve always had a yen to live there and with my job I was able to transfer) 

"What did you do for work?" he asked and I told him I'd been a long-distance operator for almost nine years, but I was getting tired of it. (except for the money and the hours) I could have stayed and qualified for a pension but after I was attacked, I started to wonder if that was what I wanted anymore. 

Our food comes and for a moment we’re too busy to talk. I've heard about pizza and Italian food back east and it's as good as I've been led to believe. The prosciutto and the asiago are just salty enough to offset the sweetness of the marinara. For dessert we have espresso and the best tiramisu I've ever had in my life. 

When we finish, we go out and the valet brings the car. On the drive back I pop out the cassette so we can listen to the radio. Right now, I don’t want to be reminded of Rick, I want to concentrate on the man who’s sitting next to me. 

When we reach my apartment, he looks at me and says, “Well, are you going to invite me in?” This takes me aback; I had put this out of my mind because I wanted to give myself the chance just to enjoy his company. I look at him for a moment and remember how long it’s been since Rick and I made love. 

“Come on,” I say and we go up the stairs. My nerves are starting to get to me and I fumble with my keys as I open the door to my apartment. 

It’s cold in here, the fire’s died down. I use the heat once in a while but I prefer heating with the fire. The fireplace draws well and if I leave my bedroom door open, the heat reaches in there just enough to take the edge off the cold. 

I take our coats and put them in the closet. “I’ll get us something to drink, but I want to build a fire first. This house may be old but the fireplace heats it up pretty nicely, and I love the way it smells. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he offers so I go into the kitchen. There are two bottles in the cupboards, Rick’s Hennessey and my Johnny Walker. Scotch doesn’t seem appropriate for the occasion so I pour two mini-balloons with cognac and heat them in the microwave. It would be even nicer to heat them in front of the fire but I need this for courage and I don’t want to wait. 

The lighting in the room is low and the heated cognac is fragrant. He’s sitting on my sofa watching the fire then smiles at me when I walk in and pats the seat next to him. 

I take a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t notice, and sit next to him, handing him his glass. He takes a sip, then slips his free arm around me and draws me close to him. Then he kisses me and pulls me closer. 

"No, you can't do this," screams my brain but I'm not listening. Rick and I are far from done but due to his touring schedule, there are a lot of separations ahead. I set down my glass and when I put my arms around him, I don’t feel guilty, well, very guilty. I’m tired of being alone all the time, I’d like to have someone around for when I can’t see Rick. I don’t know what Bill wants but I’m not looking for something permanent, at least for now. 

It’s not the time for talking. I can feel my heart start to beat more rapidly and feel myself starting to melt between my thighs. I want us to go into my bedroom and take off our clothes and see if he can make me forget about Rick. He sets his glass carefully on the table and stands up, pulling me with him. 

I feel guilty, but only a little, as we take off our clothes. He takes me in his arms and begins to kiss me again and I’m lost. I’m not in love, but I want this man and I’m not going to tell him no. 

It's nice to be held again, it's been a while. He's no Rick but he knows his way around a woman's body and I like that. After we make love, we fall asleep, but I wake up a couple of hours later. I look at the clock, it's almost three a.m. and my mind isn’t letting me rest. 

The fire has gone out so I decided to re-kindle it. The coals are glowing and it isn't hard to get it going again. I take the glass of cognac I abandoned and let it heat in front of the fire. When it's almost hot I take a sip inhaling the familiar smell. 

“What are you doing up?” He’s come into the room without a stitch of clothing on but I don’t mind. He picks up his glass and sets it on the hearth next to mine. 

“I couldn’t sleep, I'm sorry if I woke you. I re-built the fire, it gets so cold in here at night.” As if in response to my question, there was a loud pop and the log I put in sank a little. 

“Are you all right?” He picked up my glass and took a sip. “You seem kind of distracted.” 

I’m glad he didn’t say “distant” which would not have been far from the truth. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone in my bed who wasn’t Rick.” Come to think of it, the only other man who has been in my bed was Robbie. 

“Does it matter?” he asked. 

"Well yes, and no. I've never looked for anyone else but I think the possibility has always been there, when it happened it was with someone I knew. And it was unspoken that we didn't want anything from each other." You, I don't know about, I wanted to add. 

“What if I told you I did want something from you? That I’m not like those other men. I told you before I wanted to know who my competition was.” 

“Then I would have to say that things could be very complicated. I don’t even know you, we've shared classes in school and gone out on a date but that's not the same thing. Your competition is a man I've known since I was twenty-three. I know he's married but he's one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet and he's treated me well. I don't want to lose that for someone who might be gone in a week or a month. You want me, you'll have to take me on my terms."


	49. Baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill challenges Dacy, asking why she's with someone who's married. She's feeling bad but then Rick comes back to town and she gets to see him. He tells her the band will start touring, the first concert is in Vancouver, but he can't get her a VIP pass. He assures her there will be other shows, and he'll get a VIP pass for the New Year's Eve show in San Francisco. He warns he will be with Elizabeth but he knows she has friends who'll take care of her. After she leaves she gives Bob Weir a call and asks him to be her date for New Year's Eve

"Have to take me on my terms." Oh god, did I really say that? Here is a perfectly nice guy, a single guy, he's attractive, good enough in bed to make me happy and what's more, I think I like him. I don't want to chase him away but it looks like I'm doing a pretty good job of it. 

He's giving me a look of pity and I hate it. Why should he feel sorry for me when I don't feel sorry for myself? The last person who gave me that look was Robbie--just before he took off my clothes and made love to me when he realized I was moving to New York to be with Rick. 

"What has this guy done to you?" Bill gives me the look again and I want to scream at him and tell him to stop. I don't like that look or what it implies. 

“He fell in love with me, that’s what he did,” I say somewhat defensively, “We fell in love and we’ve been together for nine years. Yes, he’s married, but that doesn’t change the way we feel about each other.” 

“He’s used you for nine years and you’re defending him? Are you listening to yourself?” 

“He loves me,” I say again, “And he makes me happy.” 

“So, you like being his thing on the side? Did you ever wonder why he married her and not you?” 

Hearing him say that hurts, he’s going too far. “I don’t want to marry him, I don’t want to be the one who deals with his baggage, I’m not the one who has to deal with his heroin problem or his drinking problem. She can deal with that shit if she chooses, I don’t want to. What we have suits me fine.” 

I don't tell him that if it was me that he was living with me he'd have to choose between me or the drugs. It sounds like Elizabeth has gone there with him which I would never do. 

“So, you’re with a man who has a drug and alcohol problem. Dacy, you’re smarter than this. You’re beautiful, sweet, kind, and you’re so smart it’s scary. Why are you so stupid when it comes to this man?” 

It’s a fair question but I don’t have the answer. Robbie, Eric, and even Bob have all told me that same thing. Shall I tell Bill that when Rick touches me it makes me weak in the knees? That he’s tender, protective, funny, even supportive? That I didn’t know what an orgasm was until he made love to me the first time? That he’s still the only one who can do it?” 

Bill is waiting for me to answer, but I truly have nothing to say. I think he has guessed that I'm lonely despite having my lover. 

“He suits me, we suit each other. There’s always been something between us since the first time I met him. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t mean to fall in love, but I have few regrets.” I almost slip and say I have no regrets, which would not be truthful. 

These separations have been killing me, I never know when I’m going to see him these days. I understand, things have been hard for him since the Band broke up and his album was a flop. He gigs with people, which he likes doing, but he’s got a mortgage and three kids he wants to send to college someday. 

“Since I met Rick there have only been four other men, including you, but you’re the first one who says he wants something from me. I guess if you want me, you’ll have to accept my baggage, and that includes Rick, for now.” 

“What if I were to tell you I don’t want to share you? That I dated all those girls because I was afraid you wouldn’t want me? Dacy, I’m offering you something better than what you have, a man who will love you and only you.” 

“But you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Until I met Rick, I seemed to hook up with men who fooled me, who pretended to be someone that they weren’t. I’ve been slapped around, I’ve been lied to, and I don’t want to go through that again. Yes, Rick is married, but he treats me well, better than anyone I’ve ever been with. How can I trust you when I don't even know you? You dated the prettiest girls in the classes we shared, what do you want with me?" 

He went over to my desk and took a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. “That’s my address and my number, when you’re ready for a real relationship, call me.” 

He kissed me goodbye and left, I don't even know why I let him kiss me, or why I wanted to. I regretted seeing him walk away but he left me his number—why? Was this the end or was he giving me a chance to make another beginning? 

I didn’t have time for regrets, though, Rick called me the next night and told me he’d be home for a break in a few days and was going to see me. My heart started beating so hard I was afraid it would jump out of my chest; this is what I needed after the fiasco with Bill. 

It was about two in the morning when he woke me from a sound sleep. “Rick!” I said delightedly and threw my arms around his neck. He pulled off his clothes and crawled into bed with me and we made love. That’s how we are, the sex first and then we talk. 

He put the tip of his long finger on my nose, “How’s school, kiddo?” 

"A's in everything but math if you can believe that. I never did this well in school, even when I was going to college." 

"Sleeping with any teachers?" he teased and I shook my head. "I don't have same-sex tendencies and the others aren't anything to look at. They all want to sleep with 18-year-olds anyway. How have the gigs with Levon been going?" 

“Small, but nice. Acoustic sets are fun, but we're not making much money. We're keeping our names out there and hoping for more later.” 

“So, is the band really getting back together? When will the first show happen? Do you know where it’s going to be?” 

“Most likely Vancouver, our booking agent is setting up dates for us. It’s looking good." 

“Can I come to the Vancouver show? School will be out and I’m not going summer quarter.” 

He looked at me, then looked down, “Only if you want to be in the audience, Elizabeth and the boys will be with me, it’s spring break, you know.” 

“I see,” just going to the concert without being backstage is not what I have in mind. He sees the expression on my face and I can tell he feels bad. 

“Why don’t you come for the New Year's Eve show in San Francisco, we’ll be playing with the Dead and I can get your VIP pass. I’ll be with Elizabeth but I know you have friends there that will keep you company. It will be quite a party, how about it?” 

I nod and he kisses me. He gets up and puts his clothes on, then spots the piece of paper with Bill’s name and number. 

“Who’s Bill?” he asks, smiling, trying to be clever. 

“Someone who thinks he knows what I want. I hate people like that.” 

“Me, too. I’ll see you when I’m in town again, babe, and I’ll ask about VIP passes for other shows. When do you start school again?” 

“September.” 

He nods and kisses me goodbye. For the thousandth time since we've been together, I watch him walk out the door and wonder when I'll see him next. 

I give Bob Weir a call the next day and ask if I can come to see him. He asks me “when” and I tell him as soon as I can get a ticket. There’s a pause on his end and then he says, “Just give me a call and let me know when so I can come and pick you up.” 

Bob is just what I need right now. No emotional baggage like there is with Rick and no making demands on me like there is with Bill. I’m going to ask him if he will be my date for New Year's Eve, and maybe I’ll even beg a little, tell him it’s a mercy date because Rick will be with Elizabeth. 

When he tells me "yes," I'm not surprised. If I weren't with Rick, I'd like to be with him. Bob isn't interested in settling down and has more than one girlfriend, and lots of girl friends—like me. We like to do a lot of the same thing, he gets me passes to his gym, we go for bike rides, and, at his insistence, practice yoga together. I'm not a vegetarian but when I’m with him I don’t eat poultry or red meat. 

Rick eats anything and everything, no bothering to think about if it’s good for him. He hates exercise and doesn’t understand why I’m willing to wake up early so I can go for a run. He has a drug and alcohol habit that scares me, and I worry that if he gets something that is too pure that it could kill him the way it killed Janis Joplin. 

If it wasn’t for sex I sometimes wonder if we would even be together. 

But then I remind myself that he’s kind, he’s sweet, he’s generous, too generous, and most of the time never tells me no. 

Bob and I bid each other a reluctant goodbye. “If things get too bad,” he says, “You can come and stay with me until you get back on your feet.” I’d like to stay with him but I have to go back to school and the Dead are due to be in the studio for rehearsals. I’d enjoyed a short break away from my life but now it was time to face reality again. I didn’t know if I was ready. 

When I get home there are calls from Rick but more surprisingly from Bill. I thought he’d given up on me, especially since seeing Rick made me realize that for now, I liked my life the way it was. I didn't call him back; I'd be seeing him in school and we could talk then if there was anything to talk about anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 90 kudos? Oh, I love you guys. Never got this many likes on any story I've written!!!!!


	50. Radar Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT's the first day of school and Dacy runs into Bill. He asks her to dinner and she agrees to go. She reflects on how things are with Rick, how their meetings sometimes are brief and they can't have a normal "dating life". But when Bill asks her how many musicians she knows she realizes that he wants to know how many she's slept with. Fed up, she walks out on him. When she gets home, Rick calls to ask about her first day of school and she realizes he's called her just when she needed him

Rick called me the night before school started to wish me good luck—and to tell me he loved me. He must have done some heroin because his voice is pitched lower than normal and he’s speaking a little more deliberately. Maybe he’s been drinking, but I don’t think so, I’d put my money on the heroin. I’ve been with him long enough that I can tell. 

If I was Elizabeth, I would be fighting tooth and nail to make him clean up. It must be costing him a lot of money-- I asked him once how much he spends on it in a year and he just shrugged his shoulders. 

He's gone off it, stays off it for a while, then relapses. I've been told that's not unusual for addicts, but how long is this going to go on? I've told him I don't want it around me and I don't want it in my house. He pretty much complies although I know he's done it in my bathroom when he thinks I'm not paying attention, I'm always paying attention. 

He’s never offered it to me, he’s smarter than that. I don’t mind a little coke once in a while, just about everyone who’s involved in music does it, or knows where to get it, but heroin scares me. I remember the night Robbie called me to the studio to take care of Rick because he was really fucked up. I never saw him like that again and I don’t want to. 

I forgive this shit because I love him. It hurts to see what he’s doing to himself and knowing I’m helpless to do anything about it. I just wish I could get him to clean up and stay clean but it’s not up to me. I’m terrified that he’s going to overdose or his body is going to give out from all the abuse. 

I haven't called Bill and I'm not sure that I want to. Seeing Rick and spending time with Bob Weir reminds me that I like my life. I get lonely but know women who'd be jealous of the men I spend time with. Musicians are assholes, but I love them. 

School starts at last and I brace myself for the inevitable. I’ve avoided Bill, but I know we’ll have some classes together—and sure enough, he comes into my 8 a.m. advanced chemistry class and sits next to me. “Where were you?” he’s clearly upset, “I called you several times and you never answered the phone.” 

“I was in San Francisco visiting a friend,” I reply, “I am so damn tired of winter that I wanted to get away. Spring is nice in the Bay Area. I’d like to live there but it’s gotten too damn expensive.” I wait to see if he asks me who I was with and he doesn’t disappoint. 

“So, who is this friend?” 

“A member of the Grateful Dead,” I’ll give away the band but I won’t name the musician, “I’ve known him for quite a while, I met him at Shangri La—the Band’s studio.” I want to add, “why do you want to know?” but I don’t say anything. 

Bill shakes his head and the instructor walks in and that ends the conversation. He walks me to my next class and asks, “How about dinner then—fresh start, okay?” 

I look at him, I don’t really want to chase him away, I just want him to accept my life and not try to change it. This is a nice person, even if he is a little too persistent. I nod and he says, “I’ll see you at seven,” and walks off. 

I hate doing homework as soon as I get home, but I’ve got a good start in school and am making sure I keep it up. I’ve got most of my assignments finished—what are the instructors thinking anyway? We’ve just gotten off spring break and who’s ready to jump back into school? 

"You look nice," he says and I thank him. I'm wearing a skirt and a shirt that's a favorite of Rick's, along with my flat-heeled black boots. I wish I was going to dinner with Rick, but when he finally has a chance to come to see me there won't be time for more than a quick visit. I'm looking forward to when I get to see him this summer, I'll actually get to spend a few nights with him, which is a rare treat. 

Bill takes me to a restaurant in Woodstock, one I’ve never been to before, it’s a sort of organic Mediterranean which is fine with me. It’s nice to be dining with someone instead of by myself. If I’m lucky enough to have an evening out with Rick we have to go someplace in Poughkeepsie or Albany so he won’t be recognized. 

I have whitefish with a red sauce with vegetables, it looks as good as it tastes. Bill is eating something vegetarian which looks delicious but I don’t have a good relationship with vegetables. I wonder if he’s trying to lose weight because his face is a little thinner, he could stand to lose a little more. I want to say something complimentary but I don’t know how he’ll react so I opt for saying nothing. 

We’ve hardly spoken since he picked me up. We had no more than a perfunctory conversation in the car but have said practically nothing to each other since we entered the restaurant. Finally, he sets his fork and knife down on his plate, and out of the blue asks me, “Just how many musicians do you know?” 

Why do I get the feeling that what he really meant to say is, “How many musicians have you slept with?” I feel like going into bitch mode, but I’ll settle for wicked. What kind of question is that anyway? He’s giving me this serious look with his icy turquoise eyes and I can tell that he wants an answer, even if he’ll be sorry later on. 

“More than the average person, but less than someone who’s in the music business. I used to hang out at the studio with Rick so I’ve met quite a few people from different bands. For the most part, they’re nice people. I’ve had happy birthday sung to me by people like Ron Wood (Bill likes the Stones), Eric Clapton, Dylan once, and of course The Band. I’ve met Jerry Garcia a few times when I’ve visited my friend in the Dead, but he’s the only other member that I know.” Happy? I want to ask him. 

“You’ve hung out with these people?” 

“Mostly Rick because I’m his girl. I get asked to parties but I stay away from the ones at Shangri La, those get a little out of control. I’ve heard some stories that I suspect are true. If I hear that there’s a party happening that night, I tell Rick I’m going home.” 

And it’s true, the parties there have a bad rap. I know those guys; I love each and every one of them but there are things that I don’t want to be part of. My first encounter with Rick was at a Shangri La party, and Gina and I left before things really got going. 

I'm going to rub salt in the wound, "I knew some people from a few of the bands who've played the Whisky, the Whisky A-Go-Go. The music scene in LA is kind of tight, you meet a few people and then you meet a few more. I've pretty much hung out with musicians since I met Rick." 

“And how many have you slept with?” I can see the question in his eyes though he doesn’t ask it. If he is finding out that I’m not who he’s hoping I was, that is a good thing. I realize that I’m not going to leave Rick for him which I think he’s hoping will happen. 

“Why are you pursuing a woman who is in love with someone else?” I ask him, “I’m not leaving Rick for you, I’ve loved him for nine years and I’m not ready for our relationship to end. Tell yourself the truth, you’re pursuing a lost cause so why bother?” 

I stand up and gather my things. “I’m going home, I’m going to call a cab so don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” 

“Sit down and finish your dinner,” he says, but I shake my head. 

“No, I want to leave, I’ve lost my appetite. Do yourself a favor, find a woman who’ll fall in love with you, avoid people like me with complications, we’re not worth it. And stop walking me to class,” I add. 

I leave and don’t regret it--much. If I kept on seeing him, I’d have to make a choice, and I made that choice a long time ago. Love is love; it doesn’t matter who you’re in love with. I wonder why I’m not crying but then I really don’t feel like it, there’s nothing to weep over here. 

Like that song, “Radar Love” by Golden Earring, Rick calls me and I couldn’t be more grateful. He wants to know how my first day of school went and to tell me that the show that night went really well. He and Levon are stoked about the band getting back together. It’s something that he’s been missing, badly, he needs these guys. He’ll always do these small shows, I think, he’ll never sell out large halls but as long as he can play in front of an audience, he’s happy. 

I wish them success I want things to go well. Rick told me they'll be playing with the Cates Brothers which is a good choice, but one ingredient is missing: Robbie. Even though Richard has sobered up his songwriting days are past. Levon isn't much of a songwriter, Rick has a way to go before he'll be good at it. Garth isn't a songwriter unless you count his "Genetic Method" intro to "Chest Fever", which Robbie wrote. 

I wonder if their brotherhood is still there, buried deep, waiting for the chance to emerge. They aren’t the kids who played with Ronnie Hawkins anymore. I could see the camaraderie slipping away when I first met them. There’s going to need it now, getting back together will be no quick fix, but if they play it right, they can keep performing and make some badly needed money. 

“When can I see you?” I ask him, I try not to be that girl but right now I need to see him. I need to get the taste of Bill out of my mouth. 

"Well, someone has a birthday in May, maybe I can slip into town to see you. It won't be more than a day if that." 

“I don’t care, I’ll take it. A birthday with you is happier than a birthday without you.” I wonder if he can sense something is wrong with me, I didn’t expect a call from him this soon. I’d love to tell him about Bill—no, I don’t. The only man he knows I’ve slept with is Eric, he doesn’t know about Bob and he definitely does not know about Robbie and I intend to keep it that way. I don’t ask him about his relationship with Elizabeth, we each have a private life that belongs only to ourselves. 

“I’ve got to go kiddo; I’ll see you in May and before that if I can. You’ll be with me for a couple of shows this summer, I’ll try to let you know when they’ll be. I love you, please take care of yourself.” 

“I will, I can’t to see you again, god I miss you so bad. I love you too.” 

He hangs up the phone and I stretch out on my sofa, but get up and go over to my desk. I pick up the piece of paper Bill wrote his number on and tear it into little pieces and throw it on the fire. 

Good riddance, I think, and a weight falls off my shoulders.


	51. Joyous Lake on a June Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick remembers Dacy's birthday and surprises her by asking her if she'd come with him when the Band tours Japan. She's happy but not sure. The Band plays their first gig at Joyous Lake, opening up the tour

True to his word, Rick showed up on my birthday, just like I knew he would. He’s only broken one promise to me, and that was in the early days of our very weird courtship. He didn’t show up one time when he said he was going to and I was so hurt I was ready to call things off. When I told him how upset I was he gave me his word it would never happen again, and it hasn’t.

He brought me an antique teapot I’d been eying for weeks. It’s Silesian china, has a fruit pattern on it—and it’s beautiful. I don’t know how much it cost but it wasn’t cheap. I wonder how he knew that I wanted it—I swear he has a spy who follows me around just to find out what I’ve been looking for.

I start crying when I see it, I’m very weepy these days. Bill is pretty much ignoring me and it’s a relief. His chem-lab partner must be all of twenty years old and looks at him with her heart in her eyes. If I am going to be honest about this, I might be looking at him the same way if it weren’t for Rick—or not.

“I love it,” I tell Rick and mean it. I put it on the mantel above my fireplace, it’s far too precious to use although I wish I could.

“I’m glad you like it,” he nuzzles my hair and kisses me on the ear—it tickles and I giggle. We sit for a minute, holding each other, just enjoying a rare opportunity to spend time with each other.

He pulls back, “We have our first date set, June 25 at Joyous Lake in Woodstock. Are you going to come?”

“I can’t, Elizabeth will be with you, won’t she?”

“But I want you to be in the audience, I want to know you’re there supporting me, just knowing you’re there helps. This is a big deal, Dacy, please say you’ll come. I’ve got a ticket saved for you. I don’t know when we can hook up again, we’ll be touring Canada until we swing down back in the states. It may be a long time before we have a break.”

I don’t want to see him with Elizabeth—seeing them together at the Last Waltz was bad enough. The venue is small, intimate and there’s no stage, the band will almost be mingling with the audience while they play.

It’s a fun venue, and it’s becoming popular with artists that come to this area, but I don’t want to go. There will be people who know me and like me as well as people who don’t like me because of Elizabeth. I don’t think I should go.

“Tell you what,” he says, “You come to Joyous Lake and I’ll let you come to any concert you like, you can even come to Japan with me.”

“What? You want me to come with you to Japan?” Now, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, but going to Japan might be fun. I’ve been there before, it would be a nice getaway and the perfect way of taking the awkwardness of Bill off my mind.

“Wow, are you sure about this?” I tell him, this is not something I am taking lightly and I don’t want him to, “Would this be a good idea? Shouldn’t you be taking Elizabeth, not me?”

“The boys will be starting school and she wants to be home with them. Besides, I think it would do you good, and I think maybe I owe you this.”

I put my hand on his, “Rick, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do,” he says, an earnest tone in his voice that he saves for when he wants to show he’s serious, “I’m a selfish person, I’ve kept you with me all these years when I should have sent you away. I don’t have the right to keep you in my life but I’m glad you’ve been willing to put up with my shit. I guess I’m trying to say I appreciate you more than you realize.”

“Hmm, thanks, I love you too,” it’s all I can say at the moment. I’m having second thoughts about this, as tempting as it sounds. Two days is the longest we've ever spent alone together and that was just right. This may be over a week and I'm not sure if it's a good idea. Our relationship works because we have space from each other, this may be too much togetherness. 

“When do I have to let you know?”

“Now, I have to arrange to get your visa and your ticket and there’s not that much time.”

I take a deep breath, “Well, I’ll go but only if you let me reimburse you for the cost of my visa and my ticket. And I want to get an open-ended ticket in case I want to fly back early. If I start getting the vibes that it’s time for me to leave, I will. Look, part of me wants to go, the other is saying, ‘not so fast’.”

He takes my hand, squeezes it, “Come to Japan then, no pressure, leave whenever you want, I won’t mind. We haven’t had a trip together in years.”

“Well, I’ll enjoy it a lot more with you than I did with my mother.”

“You’ve been to Japan?”

“Yeah, it was a graduation trip that I tried to turn down, but my father insisted that I go. He even asked me why I wasn’t going, somehow the fact that I said no wasn’t sufficient, so yeah, I’ve been to Japan.”

“We’re only going to Osaka and Tokyo, but I’ll make sure you have a good time. You know the tour routines, so you’ll know what to expect. And you don’t have to pay…”

“I know I don’t have to pay, but I want to. Tell you what, if I see something that I like you can buy it for me. I’ll make you take me to the Ginza, so be prepared.”

I still don’t believe I let him talk me into this but it will be nice to have time alone with him and not have to look over my shoulder and wonder if Elizabeth is watching. I still don’t know if she knows about me. We have friends who accept it as common knowledge that I’m part of his life. We’ve been together so long now that I almost can’t remember what life was like before I met him.

I’m glad the guys are getting back together, but it’s going to be a different band, a different feel. Richard’s songwriting days are past, I’m afraid his hold on sobriety is a tenuous one at best. The others aren’t really songwriters either, but they are one hell of a rhythm section.

The audience will love hearing the old familiar songs and they’ve picked some good stuff to cover. Robbie won’t be there with his guitar, and that means some people won’t be interested. The Cates are backing them up and they’re good, and after they leave they’ll come up with someone else. There is a lot of talent out there waiting to be discovered.  
This is a chance for them to make more money than they can as solo acts. It's been seven years since they played together, and they’ve changed. I don’t know what their expectations are, what they see themselves doing. I think going back into the studio is in the cards, but whose songs will they be singing?

I think I’ve made a mistake. I’m standing here in the Joyous Lake venue, looking for someone I know and I don’t know many people here, except from school. There’s no one to rescue me so I’m on my own.

School’s out, I tell myself, I got good grades and it’s looking good for fall. I deserve a treat, a chance to celebrate, only am I celebrating if I’m here by myself? I should have asked someone from school to come with me, but maybe not.

I’m trying hard to not see Rick, but you can’t miss his tall lanky form. He’s wearing a navy blue shirt and jeans and looks good—but would look better if he’d grow out his hair, and his facial hair too, I miss the Rick I met.

Levon spots me and comes over and gives me a big hug. “Hang in there,” he says in his soft Arkansas drawl, “He’s glad you’re here and you look so pretty I could eat you up.”  
I allow myself a smile, “Sandy wouldn’t be too happy about that,” I tell him and he laughs.

“I wouldn’t let her know,” he replies and releases me and goes through the crowd, schmoozing and greeting people. He does the southern charm thing so well, Levon can put you at ease, he makes you feel like an old friend, which in my case he is.

The band is assembling themselves, and getting ready to play. I’m trying to avoid looking at Rick, but he catches my eye and winks like he did nine years ago when he first saw me. I make myself smile, though what I really want to do is cry.

Someone says, “The Band is back!” making me want to cringe. They’re not “back”, they’ve been here all along. Then I hear the opening bars of “Rag Mama Rag” and the audience cheers and burst into applause. People are on their feet and start dancing and I hear someone behind me ask, “Want to dance, beautiful?”

I turn and see Bill standing behind me. I nod and we move into the crowd and start dancing. The song ends and they break into another. “Let’s get a drink,” he says and I follow him to the bar.

“So that’s who my competition was,” he says, nodding his head towards Rick, “I didn’t stand a chance, did I?”

I have nothing to lose by being honest, “No, not unless we split up. We tried that once and it only lasted for six months.”

“You lead a lonely life, Dacy, is it worth it?”

I look at Rick and think about the teapot sitting on the mantle. I think about how he makes me laugh, how tender he is, how he holds me when we make love. And the time he took me to the ER and wouldn't leave until the nurses would no longer let him stay.

“He’s worth it, maybe not all the time, maybe not every day but he loves me. It ain’t easy, believe me, but there has never been a time in my life when I’ve regretted being with him. He’s not just my lover, he’s my friend. He’s not perfect but neither am I.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier…”

I cut him off, “I’m not asking for easy, I don’t trust it.” I get my drink and leave him at the bar, there’ll be other men to dance with.

I dance and flirt, determined that I will turn this into a good time. I haven't heard them play together in so long that it's good to hear all the old songs and the covers from their days with Ronnie and ones they’ve chosen. The people who think that it’s not the Band without Robbie are wrong, it’s the same yet not the same. I heard from someone that in the old days they were considered the best bar band around and tonight that’s true.

The finish their set and two encores, then put their instruments down and go to the bar and chat people up. This is my clue to slip out, I don’t want to watch Elizabeth follow Rick around.

I get in my car and put the key in the ignition, just as I’m about to start it I hear someone pounding on my door. It’s Rick, how did he get out here unnoticed?

He’s holding something in his hand, it’s a flyer advertising their appearance for that night. “I got this for you, we all signed it, even the Cates.” 

I take it from him, lay it on the seat, and weigh it down with my purse. "Thank you, you guys sounded really good tonight. Have fun with the tour, okay? ”

He leans over and kisses me. “I wish you were coming with me, but I always wish that, don’t you know?”


	52. Mama's Cooking Chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from an old blues song. If you want to know what the chapter is about just read it

It's a hot summer day, too hot to use the oven even though I have air conditioning but for some reason, I decide I want, no I have, to bake a chicken. 

I'm up to my elbows in basil, salt, pepper, lemon and I've only just now gotten the damn thing in the oven. Now I'll let it bake about an hour and a half and take it out. I have baked chicken down. 

I miss Rick dreadfully and I'm trying to keep my mind off him by cooking. I've boiled potatoes and will make potato salad. I'm going to make a green salad too, just in case. I've got broccoli and cremini mushrooms that I'm going to stir fry and there's a cheesecake in the refrigerator that I made yesterday. Guess you could say I'm indulging in cooking therapy. 

It's the middle of July and I won't see him until the end of August, but after that, I am looking forward to spending a lovely week together. Well, not completely together, there will be Japanese promotors, and radio interviews, maybe even a television appearance, and at least one night where they will take the guys to a "men's restaurant", yes, they have those. Rick will come back blind drunk because the Japanese like to drink and there are no limits. 

I'm going through my wardrobe deciding what I'm going to take. I've gotten rid of some of Rick's favorites because they're old and I'm tired of them. I've bought some new stuff that I can't wait for him to see me in. 

I still look younger than I am. The Japanese think you're old and over the hill once you turn thirty, so no way am I going to show up with grey hairs. I'm getting my hair cut and colored before I leave. Rick hasn't seen me in months and I hope he likes what he sees. 

I'm fixing so much food that I'd invite Kat and her husband Mack to dinner, but they're out of town on another of their "honeymoons". Mack's been posted overseas for so long that they're making up for lost time. I don't blame them; I know what it's like to be separated from Rick. This will be a sort of second honeymoon for us, too. 

The potatoes have cooled so I slice and cube them and make the salad. I like to cook but barely have the time to really get into it, so I enjoy silly little things like chopping celery and onions, making sure that I use the correct amount of mayonnaise and just the right amount of mustard. I sample it, of course, and it tastes so good I almost want to eat it for lunch, but I put it in the fridge instead. 

I need to get off my feet so I smoke a joint and stretch out on the sofa for a short rest. I've got some coke stashed somewhere and I'm tempted to get it out—I could use the extra burst of energy. I don't know why I am cooking so frantically, except that I'm feeling jealous of Elizabeth which I really shouldn't. Rick is calling me at least once a week, sometimes more, telling me he misses me, telling me about how the tour is going, and how he's pleased with the response of the crowds. They'll never fill arenas or stadiums again but if I were them, I'd like these smaller venues better. 

I close my eyes and the pot I've smoked, combined with playing Martha Stewart, has made me sleepy and despite my intentions, I close my eyes. I drift off to sleep, only to be wakened by the jangling of the doorbell that I keep promising myself I'll replace. 

I go to answer it, thinking that I must look like a mess but oh well, and open it to find Bill standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. My jaw drops I can feel it and I leave him standing there before I can speak. 

He's lost some more weight and although he still looks a little stocky you can see the lovely bone structure in his face. He's looking good, really good, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see him. 

He hands me the flowers, "An apology, I wasn't very nice when I saw you at Joyous Lake." 

I take the flowers, "You have nothing to apologize for, you were being honest, so was I. Come on in, I've been cooking, would you like to stay for dinner, I've fixed a ton of food." My invitation is sincere but I hope he doesn't mistake my intentions. 

"Can I help?" he asks and point to a bunch of broccoli and a container of mushrooms. 

"Wash your hands and chop the broccoli—cut the stems off, I don't want them. Then slice the mushrooms so I can stir fry them. I'm going to put together a green salad, everything else is done." 

"Yes ma'am," he smiles and I realize I've forgotten just how seductive that smile is. No Bill, no nooky. Rick is taking me to Japan with him at the end of August and that's less than two months away. I don't feel like cheating, not now. You should have come to see me a few months ago. 

"Smells good," he says as I do the stir fry, hearing him say that makes me feel good. I don't get to cook for Rick, I cook for Kat and Mack, but that's about it. I love to feed people; cooking is fun when I'm in the mood but less fun if I can't share it. 

"Sit," I tell him and set out stir-fried broccoli and mushrooms, potato and green salads, and the chicken which has cooled just enough to eat. We dive into the food, not bothering to talk because there's no need to. When we finish, I bring out half an apple pie I've defrosted and he gives me a "you've got to be kidding" look. 

"In case we feel like it later." I make coffee and bring out the cognac and he motions me to the living room and makes himself comfortable on the couch. 

Okay, what do I do now? I sit on the couch, making sure I'm not close but not far enough away to be rude. I take a joint out of the antique cigarette box Rick bought me and light it, take a drag, then hand it to him. Anything to keep us occupied so the opportunity of sex does not present itself. 

"Dinner was great, feel free to cook for me anytime," he's making conversation with a hint of flirtation. If I have any doubts, he leans over to put his arm around me and tries to kiss me. 

I recoil, fast, this was not on my agenda. Dinner was an olive branch, not an invitation I don't feel like issuing. 

"Don't," I say and mean it. 

"Why are you staying with a man who doesn't deserve you? How long have you been his thing on the side, anyway? If he loved you, he'd be with you. He doesn't appreciate you." 

I hear him saying all these things and there are times when I've thought them myself, but this is Rick he's talking about. I made my decision a long time ago, I could walk away if I wanted to but I don't want to. 

"You're wrong, you don't know how wrong you are. He does appreciate me; we've stuck by each other all these years. He's taking me to Japan, he doesn't have to do that. We work, I like our relationship the way it is. He loves me, but I'm not tied to him, I have my own life." 

"Who are you trying to convince, me or you?" Bill moves closer to me on the couch, "Don't you want someone who'll love just you?" 

I'm starting to feel afraid, though it might just be paranoia. I don't know what he's going to try to do. I'm strong but he's probably stronger. I don't think he'd try to assault me; I don't think he's that person, but he's making me uncomfortable. 

"Go," I tell him, "If you're going to be like this, I don't want you here. Why did you come over anyway? Did you think things had changed? I'm with a man I love, what's it to you if he's married? It's my life, my choice." 

"I've been hoping you'd come around, Dacy, but I'm not going to wait forever. Maybe someday you'll wise up and realize you deserve more, but I might not be around." 

I stand up and open the door. "Get out, leave me alone. I only asked you to dinner I don't recall telling you I wanted to be seduced." 

I want to throw his flowers at him, but I don't throw tantrums. I just stand there, feeling angry but a little regretful. 

He pauses at the door and kisses me very tenderly. "I hope he knows what he has," he says and I reply, 

"Believe me, he does." I watch him walk down the steps and I close the door. 

The phone rings and I pick it up—it's Rick. It's the magic, the connection that we have. I need to talk to him right now and he called. This isn't the first time it's happened. 

"Hi babe!" he says and I'm so glad to see him that I want to burst into tears but I control myself, I don't want him to know that I'm upset. 

"I'm so glad you called; I miss you. How are the shows going?" 

"They're going good, I wish you could be here to see them. The guys ask about you, they wonder when they're going to see you." 

"Well, do they know I'm coming to Japan with you? I'm counting the days until we leave." 

"Yeah, they know, they're looking forward to seeing you. I'm going to make sure you have a good time; I want to make up for the time we've spent apart." 

He says what I want to hear and it makes me feel good. I'm feeling less upset about Bill, just hearing Rick's voice is therapy. 

I could tell him what happened, but he doesn't need to know. These days I want to be up when I talk to him, tell him only the good things. 

"Are you performing tonight?" I ask I think maybe they have a show scheduled. 

"Yeah, I've got to go, I just wanted to hear your voice. I can't wait to see your pretty face again. Are you out breaking hearts while I'm gone?" 

I almost choke when he says this, but catch myself. "Nope," I say, "No hearts around worth breaking, and I definitely don't plan on breaking yours." 

He laughs his throat laugh, "Well, I don't know if I believe that, but I hope you don't break mine. I've got to go, baby girl, I love you." 

"I love you too," I reply and we hang up. Fuck you, Bill, I think, fuck you and anyone who says he doesn't love me. I’ve been with him eight years and he’s never given me reason to doubt him.


	53. Japan 1983

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy travels with Rick and The Band on a tour in Japan. At the end of the tour, though, she hears something that she would rather not have

Rick said he would have a car pick me up at 6:30, but I forgot to ask if that was “Danko Time”. I was ready and packed at 6:30 just in case, but it was 7:30 when I heard a car pull up, horn honking, making me hope my neighbors were awake.

I heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs, and the door opened to reveal Rick standing at the threshold. He took three steps and put his arms around my waist, lifting me up and spinning me around. 

“Um, I am so glad to see you, you look great,” he sniffed at my neck, “And you smell good too! Are you ready?”

“Since 6:30,” I said and smiled, “Are you running late?”

“Not very,” he picked up my bags and we headed down the stairs and out the door. Immediately I was greeted by three very goofy guys hanging out the windows and doors, yelling, “Hi Dacy!” at the tops of their lungs.

“Gee thanks, guys,” I said, “I hope the neighbors are already awake,” and they burst into laughter. 

It was nice to see Richard, Levon, and Garth again. These are my favorite guys in the world, and they have kept their knowledge of Rick and me to themselves. I loved and accepted and for this I am grateful.

We catch up on the drive to the airport. Rick must have told them I’m going to nursing school because I get teased and asked if I had to clean bedpans and do I give sponge baths? I’m sure at some point on the drive or the flight I’m going to get asked if I’ll give one. 

Rick keeps his arm around me and I lean my head on his shoulder. I haven’t been sleeping well and last night I barely slept at all. I’m happy to be included on this trip but I am uneasy. There’s no good reason, but something is nagging at me. 

The rest of the band trickle into the airport, waiting in the lounge for foreign flights. They’ve chartered a plane so the crew and equipment fly with us. There are unfamiliar faces, but I’ve met the Cates and Levon’s nephew Terry Cagle so I don’t feel surrounded by strangers. 

It’s 10 hours to Narita Airport, two hours less than flying from Seattle. The guys have taken the cabin in the front of the plane and everyone else is in the “tourist” section. It doesn’t matter much; we are all given equal treatment. As soon as it is safe to leave our seats, guitars are taken from the racks and an impromptu jam session begins. Patient flight attendants distribute drinks and spirits are high. 

This has to be the best flight ever, better than the trip I took to Japan with my mother. The jam doesn’t end until everyone has to take their seats and get ready for the approach to the airport. 

When we land the equipment is hustled through customs, it takes longer for the rest of us before we can board the bus that we’ll be using. It’s ten in the morning Tokyo time and our Japanese hosts seem to have forgotten there is such a thing as jet lag. Even worse cameras are clicking and I can’t avoid being photographed with Rick, nor a graceful way to avoid it. I settle for not posing, turning my head against his side, and trying my best not to scowl. 

“Don’t worry,” Rick whispers to me, “Elizabeth won’t see the pictures, these are local journalists and Japanese paparazzi. They’ll probably think you’re my girlfriend, I’ll tell anyone who asks you’re the band’s assistant. They won’t believe it but they’ll leave it at that.” 

“Oh yes,” I respond, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, “The Japanese are very polite.” 

He laughs, “Cheer up, you’ll be all right.” 

We’re given a few hours to rest, then the meetings with radio stations and dignitaries begin. The Japanese don’t quite know what to do with me. I’m not his wife and when Rick says I work for the band they nod and say nothing. They find two girls in their early 20’s who they assign as my escorts. There isn’t time for serious sightseeing so the girls take me to the Ginza to do what women like to do—shop and eat. 

I’d seen a little of it on my last trip, but the Ginza must be one of their favorite haunts. They take me to a restaurant that has the best food I’ve ever eaten—and refuse to let me pay the check. Then I tell them I want to buy a dress or two—Rick shoved some money in my purse—and they giggle and take me to a shop that they assure me carry stylish clothing. 

I see a dress in the window that I decided I must have. It’s white with a softly gathered skirt that hits about four inches above my knees. It’s white with pencil stripes that waver in a psychedelic pattern. On the front are printed yellow and orange flowers. It’s sleeveless with a boat neck and it is screaming, “You want me, you want me!” 

“This one,” I say and point. When I try on the dress it fits like it was made for me. I add a black patten leather belt and black sandals with high chunky heels. I turn around and gaze at my reflection in the mirror and know that Rick is going to love it. 

Rick’s back in our room when I return and asks to see what I bought. “Bad luck to see the dress before dinner,” I tell him and he lifts an eyebrow as if to say, “Oh really?” Then he puts his arms around me and lets me know there is something else on his mind. 

It’s been over two months since we made love. Emotions are surging through me and I start to get weepy which I try, with no luck, to hide from Rick. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “It’s all right, I’ve missed you, too. I know how hard this has been for you, I wish it could be different but it’s my work, babe.” 

I bury my face in his chest, “I know, I know. Can we just make love, please, and not talk?” 

We take a shower and get dressed for dinner. I dress in the bathroom and then come out, turning around so he can take in my new dress. He whistles and tells me how sexy I look which is exactly what I want to hear. There is nothing like a new dress to make you feel good. 

Dinner isn’t just dinner; the band is being feted. I get looks from our Japanese hosts which I ignore. After dinner the boys are taken to a “Men’s Restaurant” and all I say to Rick is, “Don’t get too drunk.” I’ve brought along B-complex and will get it down him before he goes to bed so his hangover won’t be so bad. 

I don’t mind being left behind, I’m more than ready to sleep. Six concerts are coming up--I’d be happy with only a couple, but I’ll be the supportive girlfriend. I just hope I’m not his “substitute Elizabeth”, that I don’t want. 

Rick comes in about three, goes straight to the bathroom, and starts throwing up. I wash his face with a warm washcloth and when he slows down, I give him the vitamin and make him drink two glasses of water. I help him to bed and take off his clothes. 

“Try to get some sleep,” I tell him, “You’ll feel better in the morning. He mutters something that sounds like, “I doubt that” but I have faith in my hangover cure. It turns out I’m right, in the morning he feels better than he expected, although sake is a wicked drunk. He’s in better shape than the others, but after food and great quantities of coffee, they are ready to face the day. 

Interviews, sound check, then the first concert of the series. I get to skip listening to the interviews but Rick drags me to soundcheck and I sit in the back of the theater thinking how good they are sounding. They will never sound like “The Band”, the original, that is, but this is a different sound for a different band, and they sound good. 

We go back to the hotel and I change for dinner. My black dress has a plunging neckline and I put on a necklace of black coral and freshwater pearls. The hem is almost indecently short, showing off my fishnet stocking and black heels. If our Japanese hosts think I’m just a groupie I’ll make sure I don’t disappoint them. And for the final touch, I put on huge hoop earrings like the Latina girl I am. 

The boys eat a big dinner and then the car arrives to take us to the hall. It’s eerily quiet now, but soon it will begin to fill with people. There are Canadian, Japanese, and an American flag hanging as a backdrop, sort of lacking imagination—I wonder whose idea that was. People are coming in, the dignitaries, the DJs, concert promoters, all the usual people you see backstage at concerts.

I’m getting stared at and it gets annoying, but I know this culture. Rick and I make a handsome pair, both dressed in black. He’s wearing a black kerchief around his neck which I threatened to take off, it’s much too “Roy Rogers”. I think he should get his ear pierced and wear a small diamond but he scowled at me when I suggested that—I don’t think I’ll give up on the idea, it would look good on him. 

It’s time to hit the stage and the announcer introduces the Cates, then the members of the Band. They break into “Rag Momma Rag” for their first number, then follow it up with “Long Black Veil” and “Up on Cripple Creek”. They are using their basic repertoire and the audience is loving it. Rick plays mostly acoustic guitar but switches occasionally to his base for numbers like “Makes No Difference”. They play audience favorites like “The Weight” but there’s some R & B and blues thrown in. Levon plays a mean harp, maybe not as good as Butter but no one cares. 

They close with “Blaze of Glory” and “Willy” and the Hand Jive” and leave the stage. The audience starts clapping in unison and soon they’re back and closing the show with “Ophelia” as an encore.

Next, it’s the party. I’m grateful for the coke Rick gave me, I could easily fall asleep without it. I am hoping we can get away at one a.m., but it’s five o’clock before we get back to the hotel. We make love, tired as we are, then collapse and fall asleep. 

The rest of the tour goes pretty much the same. We hit Osaka for two shows, then back to Tokyo to finish up. This tour has been amazing, the crowd response is wonderful and you can feel the energy they’re feeding out to the band. The guys are enjoying themselves; Japan is if you open your mind to it and as busy as we are, we do some sightseeing, to get out of the hotel if nothing else.

I’m happy for them, they’re feeling pretty up. This is exactly what they need, magicians may have overblown egos but there’s insecurity at the basis of it. To be loved the way the audience loves them gives them confidence and they are going around with smiles on their faces. 

They do one last show in Tokyo, and Rick and I slip away from the party early—for him—which surprises me. We go back to the hotel and make love, then just lie and hold each other. 

He surprises me by sitting up, “I have something I have to tell you, and I need to tell you now because I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” 

This does not sound good and alarm bells are ringing in my head. That nagging feeling is coming to the surface and I know that something is up, something I won’t like. 

“I’ve got to end it with you, Dacy, this isn’t fair to you. You could be with someone if it weren’t for me, have a real relationship instead of just a pretend one. I can’t do this to you anymore.” 

“Do I have any way in this?” I ask him, “I’ve been happy with our relationship, it’s unusual but it suits me just fine. What if I don’t want you to end this?”

He shook his shaggy black head, “No, it’s no good. I love you, I do, but I’ve been selfish where you’re concerned. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re funny. You should find someone who’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” 

Tears are forming in my eyes. I’m not much of a crier and I don’t want to cry now. “Couldn’t you have told me this before? Why did you ask me to come with you to Japan if you knew you were going to leave me?” 

“Because I’m selfish, I wanted to have you with me one last time. Dacy, you’re starting to get your life together, you’re going to school, you’re making friends...” 

“You’re wrong about friends, all my friends are in California. I gave up my life there, for you, for you, Rick. For years now there’s been no one but you.” Well, not entirely true, but close enough to the truth.

“What about Weir?” he asks and my jaw drops. 

“How did you find out about him?” I don’t know if this is a point or a cheap shot. 

“We move in a small world, remember? And I hear he’s treated you well. You deserve to have someone like him.” 

“Bob doesn’t want a relationship, we’re just friends. How can you do this to me, Rick? Does Elizabeth know about us, is that what this is about?” 

“No, it’s not. We’ve had our ups and downs but it’s been a good eight years, let’s leave it there. I don’t want to be your enemy, Dacy, you know I couldn’t bear that.” 

I grab a pillow and a blanket and start to leave the bed, but he pulls me back. “Don’t,” he says and I go back to bed. 

On the flight home, I pretend nothing is wrong. I laugh, I smile, I pretend to be my happy self. I can’t disagree entirely with Rick, maybe he’s right, maybe it is time, but when I get home, I’m going to call Bob Weir and ask if I can come and see him. Bob will listen, Bob will understand. I just hope that Bill leaves me alone.


	54. I Shall be Released

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after they break up, Richard Manual commits suicide

Three years later it was Richard’s death that brought us back together. 

I was listening to the radio on my way to work when I heard the DJ announce that Richard Manual of the Band committed suicide. The news was not unexpected, but I could not believe what I was hearing. He wasn’t really dead, was he? 

I called the radio station when I got to work to verify what I had heard—Richard Manual had committed suicide after a performance in Florida. I thanked them and hung up. 

I was grateful for work that night. Nothing I heard had surprised me, but I remembered Richard and his soulful voice, his sense of humor, and how, next to Rick, he was one of the nicest people I knew. 

Rick must be taking it hard, I wished I could be there for him but Elizabeth was on tour with him, so I would not be welcome. 

I didn’t know when I would hear from Rick, but I knew somehow that he would come to me when he was ready. Rick lives in his own world, in it people didn’t kill themselves. His magical thinking drove me crazy, but Rick was Rick. 

I was not surprised by Richard’s death, I had seen it coming but I hoped it wouldn’t happen. I had tried to make Rick understand that they needed to keep an eye on Richard if he didn’t give up alcohol and drugs. Richard was getting ready for a fall, I’m sorry that he checked out by hanging himself. I wish I could have saved him. 

A week went by and I hadn’t heard from Rick. It had been a long day at work, one of those days when you get home and all you want to do is sit on your sofa and do nothing—or maybe get drunk. I was more than tired, I was exhausted, I’d traded shifts with someone and worked days. I thought it would be less tiring than my normal shift—most of the difficult cases happened in the ER at night. 

It wasn’t. Several times during the day I was tempted to bang my head against a wall and vowed that I would do no more favors. This is what you get for being a nice person, I told myself, I’ll think twice before doing it again. 

Once I got home, I’d turned the tv on, not really paying attention, all I wanted was the noise so my apartment wouldn’t seem so deathly silent. I was contemplating ordering a pizza, or ordering to go from a restaurant, but I couldn’t decide if I was really hungry. I knew I had to eat but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the comfort of my sofa. 

I decided on pizza and called in my order and was waiting for the delivery driver to arrive when I heard a knock at the door. The delivery guy had gotten here much sooner than I expected, I’d have to leave him a nice tip. 

“Just a minute, I’ve got to get my wallet.” I ran into my bedroom then came out and opened the door. 

It was not the pizza delivery, Rick was leaning against my door looking bleary eyed and drunk, holding a brown paper bag in one hand with the neck of a bottle sticking out. Uh-oh, I thought, this is not good. 

“Get in here,” I told him and drew him inside, “Come on, sit down. What are you doing here?” I wasn’t sure I would see him so early, but with Rick I have learned to expect the unexpected. 

“I couldn’t deal with being at home,” he mumbled and started to take another drink but I took the bottle gently out of his hand. 

I pulled it out of the bag just far enough to be able to read the label: “Hennessey”, his favorite cognac. It was almost funny that he was drowning his sorrows with cognac. I took the bottle and headed toward the kitchen. 

“Hey, where are you going with that?” he called after me but I ignored him. I pulled a bottle or Perrier out of the fridge and put some ice in a glass and filled it, adding a lime wedge. I put the coffee on then returned to the living room and handed him the Perrier. 

“I put it away, I’m going to make you some coffee. Here, take some B-complex, take it,” I urged, “You’ve had it before, it will help you feel better when you sober up. I’m going to make you some coffee, you shouldn’t have been driving, you know. It scares me when you drive drunk.” 

He said nothing but looked at me and lay his heavy head on my shoulder. I’m sure Elizabeth was trying to take care of him, but maybe he needed to get away for a while. I hope she doesn’t try to find him. My number is unlisted and I change it periodically. I feel bad for her but I’m worried about Rick. 

I say nothing, sit next to him and take his hand, waiting for him to speak. He was silent, breathing heavily, gripping my hand tightly. “I know Rick,” I say, keeping the tone of my voice even, trying to soothe him. 

“I don’t understand why he did it, we were starting to work on material for a new album. I don’t understand why anyone would do that, especially...” 

“Rick, remember when I told you that you guys needed to keep an eye on him? He was drinking again and he suffered from depression. Alcohol’s a depressant, and mixing it with the drugs doesn’t help. I told you, when he started using again, that he was a dead man. I’ve expected this for a long time.” 

“But he didn’t act like he was depressed, he acted like everything was all right.” 

“That’s how it works, Rick, he made up his mind and it took a weight off his shoulders,” I released his hand and stood up, “You happy face everything and sometimes it drives me nuts. I’m going to get your coffee, okay? Cream and sugar? I’m sticking with Perrier.” 

I went into the kitchen to fix his coffee. Rick is a master of denial; he hates to face anything unpleasant especially if it’s staring him in the face. It’s how he copes and with Elizabeth babying him it’s never going to change. 

I feel bad for him, he’s known Richard since they were teenagers playing with Ronnie Hawkins. They’ve played together for years and they were as close as brothers. I think Richard was already a drunk when Rick met him but when you’re young you handle alcohol differently. Richard’s depression has been building for years and instead of treating it he tried to drown it. 

I fixed his coffee and brought it to him, I stuck with Perrier. I didn’t say anything, I wanted to let him do the talking. 

“How do you know so much about this depression shit, anyway?” he asked, his stare still unfocused, I urged the coffee on him and he began to slurp it. 

“Because I live with it, remember? I’m manic depressive. The alcohol I know about because of my alcoholic mother. My father always buried his head in the sand and never wanted to deal with it. I grew up with this shit. You always wonder why I don’t visit my parents? It’s because I had eighteen years of them and that was enough.” 

The doorbell rang and the pizza delivery guy appeared. I paid him and carried the pizza to the coffee table. “Come on,” I told Rick, “You need to eat and I’m starving.” He opened his mouth to argue with me and I gave my “don’t even think about it” look. He took a piece and took a bite, then another and wolfed the rest down. He took another piece and I relaxed; I’d gotten him to eat. 

I fixed him more coffee. I didn’t dare let him fall asleep. I still didn’t know why he was here, but he sought me out like he did in the old days before we broke up. 

He finished almost half the pizza, and I’d gotten two more cups of coffee in him. He looked a little better, but the pain in his eyes had not gone away. “Dacy,” he said, taking my hand, and I tried to pull away. “No, don’t,” he said and I felt myself wanting to surrender. 

I want to be in his arms again. We’d made love a few times since he broke things off, I guess I’m like a habit he couldn’t quite break. Each time we did, I regretted it afterwards but I could never bring myself to say no. 

He’d had enough food and coffee to counteract some of the effects of the alcohol and tried to pull off my clothes. Part of me wanted to give in, but as sorry as I felt for him, I hesitated. I don’t care how much he was hurting; I didn’t want to be his booty call. 

I’m not dealing with someone who’s sober but I try anyway. “No,” I tell him, “No more. Since we’ve broken up, I’ve let you come back here whenever you want but I’m tired of that. I came to New York to be with you, now you’ve got to decide if you want to be with me.” 

“I’ve only wanted what’s fair for you, you deserve more than what I’m able to give you.” 

“Do you love me, Rick, or is that over? Why do you keep coming back? If you want pussy there are a lot of women who would be willing, why do you keep coming back to me?” 

“Maybe you’re a habit that I can’t break. Do I love you? Yes, even after three years you’re still on my mind. Each time I leave here I tell myself I should stay away.” 

“If you love me you’ve got to make up your mind. I miss you, god how I miss you! I want us back, Rick, the only reason why I’ve stayed here is for you. If you don’t love me, I’m going back to Cali; but, if you want me, really want me, I’ll stay.” 

“I don’t want you to go, I want you to stay here. I’ve tried, but I’ve discovered that I can’t do without you. Please say you’ll stay—and I promise that we won’t be apart anymore.” 

It’s what I want to hear, but I don’t know if I can believe him. He’s broken up with me twice. Now he’s pulling me into his arms and I don’t want to resist. He needs me and I know it. Elizabeth and I are like night and day. What I give him she can’t, he loves me because I’m not her. In his twisted world he needs us both and to him it’s always made its own kind of sense.


	55. New Year's Eve 1983--New Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick has broken up with Dacy and she has not seen him until...Two days before Christmas he comes to see her, with a Christmas present and with a packet that contains a backstage pass and ticket as well as a plane ticket to San Francisco so she can attend the New Year's Eve concert where the Band will front for the Grateful Dead.

I do not hear from Rick after we return to the U.S. I know their tour schedule, and there is no time, although he always found a way to call me. Maybe this is a sign he really means it and I can mourn him then get on with my life. 

I’m upset, but I try to hold it together at work and school. I put on a smiling face for the patients, hold their hands, listen to their stories. I know what it’s like to lie in a hospital bed and it can be a lonely feeling. I appreciate nurses now. I save my tears for at night when I’m alone. 

It’s worse at night. I stare at the phone thinking maybe he’ll call, but it doesn’t ring. I wait for the click in the lock and the sound of his boots on the stairs. Nothing. 

I have dinner with Kat and Mac, putting on a brave face. I’m fine, I tell them, this will hurt for a while but I will get over him. I’m thirty-one, I’m no longer a lovesick girl in her twenties that fell in love at first sight. I’m a woman and I realize that I’ve been in a toxic relationship with a married man. Never mind the fact that I was in love with him and he meant the world to me, that he taught me so much that I didn’t know. That he’s kind and generous and almost everything I could ask for. Almost. 

Bill calls, and I tell him that this is a bad time to ask me out—Rick has broken up with me and I’m hurting. To him this is good news, he thinks he’s willing to deal with the fact that I’m still in love with another man. Does he want to go out with someone who’s upset about the loss of someone they were in love with?” I ask him. 

Evidently yes, he thinks so, but one disastrous date is all we have. He’s angry with me, I don’t blame him but I also warned him. I’ll date again when I’m feeling stronger, but not now. 

I hear from someone that the Band is taking a break for Christmas, a much-needed break. I hope he’ll call, but then again, no I don’t. In the old days he’d come over and tell me about the tour, how each date went, which was the best, which was disastrous. Anyway, when the phone doesn’t ring, I’m both upset and relieved. I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet. 

December 23: It was a long night at the hospital and I’m glad to hit the bed, but someone starts knocking at my door and won’t quit. I pull on my robe and go downstairs and find him standing there, snowflakes in his black hair. 

“Invite me in, babe?” he asks and gives me that smile, the one I can never resist. So, against my better judgement, no, that’s not true, to my delight I let him in and we dash up the stairs laughing because we cannot help ourselves. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says and shoves a small velvet covered box in my hand. I stare, looking at him and then the box. “Open it,” he insists. 

We sit on the sofa and I the little box and find a gold ring with a lapis lazuli stone veined in gold. “I found it in a pawn shop,” he tells me. He takes the ring and puts it on my right ring finger, “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” I reply, “but you...” 

“Something else,” he says and shoves a packet into my hand, “We’re playing in San Francisco on New Year's Eve. I got you a plane ticket, and a ticket and backstage pass.” 

“That’s smart,” I look at him, not pleased, “With Elizabeth there?” 

“We’re playing with the Dead for New Year’s Eve. I figured you could find someone to take care of you.” 

“You mean Bob Weir, don’t you? Isn’t that a little unfair, what if Bob has a date?” I’m secretly hoping he doesn’t, I’m calling him as soon as I wake up tomorrow. Or rather, today. 

“If you don’t want to be backstage, don’t use the pass. You have enough friends; you should be okay.” 

“Like I was okay for the Last Waltz?” That’s a little unfair, he wasn’t happy that I slept with Eric Clapton, maybe sleeping with Weir is different, I don’t know. 

Fortunately, he ignores me. “Aren’t you going to thank me for this?” he asks and begins to pull at my robe. 

“I thought we were over, that this was over,” I protest but not enough. God, I’ve missed him and if he wants to make love to me, he can. I don’t know why he’s doing this but I don’t care. If he wants me, I’m his, I’ve always been his. 

He kisses me goodbye before he leaves and for a moment my heart doesn’t feel so broken. I don’t think things have changed, I’m his bad habit, something he can’t quite give up, like coke or heroin. I’ll be happy if this only happens this once, it’s better that way. 

I call Bob and he sounds happy to hear from me. “I was going to call you,” he lies, but I don’t mind, and I’m in luck, he didn’t have a date yet so I guess I’m going to be it. He may flirt but he knows that I don’t like three-ways (or more) so I’ll get his New Year's Eve kiss and I won’t have to share him that night. I’ll try not to look at Rick with my heart in my eyes and I only hope that he’ll be at least a little jealous. 

Rick puts me on the red-eye on January 30. It’s only nine p.m. in San Francisco which means I’ll arrive at five a.m. When I told Bob what time I’m arriving he didn’t seem to mind. 

“I go to bed at five sometimes, babe, don’t worry about inconveniencing me. I’m looking forward to seeing you again, it’s been too long. You’re too damn far away, you know, I miss you. The guys are looking forward to seeing you, you know. I’ll be there to pick you up—should I use the Corvette? 

I sleep for some of the flight, but I’ve never slept well on planes, not without chemical help. I’m excited to see Bob, no I need to see Bob. He’s a friend/fuck buddy I can count on when I need someone. When I’m with him I laugh and I don’t care about things. I need to not care about things right now. 

He’s waiting for me as I disembark with the rest of the passengers. I run to him, I can’t help myself, and he lifts me up and spins me around, then kisses me in front of everybody. We get a few stares, he’s a local celeb and people recognize him, but he acts as he pleases. 

We walk, arm in arm to the baggage carousel and he takes my suitcase in one hand then puts his free arm around me.’ 

“Are you all, right?” he asks and I shake my head. 

“No, but I deal with this one day at a time. I don’t even know why he’s doing this, it’s like he wants to put a distance between us, then changes his mind. 

“You need to get away from him,” he says, “leave New York, come back to California.” 

I don’t tell him that I’m thinking just that, I’m just not ready to leave. 

New Year's Eve. They're opening for the Dead at the Civic Auditorium in San Francisco. I’ve got two backstage passes hanging around my neck—Bob insisted on giving me one from the Dead. Let them figure it out, he said. 

The concert is great, Rick, Richard, Garth, and Levon have been playing together long enough now that their performance has gelled. They play a combination of Band numbers, some blues, and it all sounds so good that the audience is on its feet cheering. 

Backstage I’m hanging out with the Dead, or should I admit that I’m hiding? Rick’s with Elizabeth, Levon is with Sandy, Garth is with Maud, and I don’t know the girl with Richard. All I know is that I’m avoiding them and clinging to Bob, which he’s okay with. When they come off the stage the atmosphere is high and there are congratulations all around. Then the Dead go onstage and Trixie, Jerry’s daughter, takes me under her wing and I don’t feel exposed. 

I’m Bob’s girl at the after-party and that gives me some strength. When Rick manages to catch my eye he smiles, and I lower my head. I don’t want him to look at me like that. When Bob takes me back to his place, he pulls me close and tells me he’s proud of the way I held my head up. He must have missed the smile Rick gave me. 

I fly home the day after New Year's Day. Bob tells me again that I can come and stay with him anytime and won’t I consider moving back to California? 

I tell him I’ll think about it. Right now, I don’t know what I want. No, that’s not quite true, I want Rick back but I don’t know if I want to pay the price to have him.


	56. 1985:  The Byrds Reunion and CSN--New Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is not acting like he's broken up with Dacy, but shows up from time to time. One night he comes over and tells her he's going to be playing at the Byrds Reunion concert and The Band will be playing with CSN

1985: The Byrds Reunion and CSN 

They’ve toured through most of 1983 and 84. Rick is doing tours with Richard and Garth, Levon is making a movie (good for him) and he’s played with Butter once but now something special has come up. 

He comes over one night, bouncing up the stairs, he must have been doing coke again. He sits next to me on the sofa and takes my hand, grinning. Every so often he shows up and we make love—I don’t know what kind of breakup this is but I can’t turn him away. He remembers my birthday and gets me something for Christmas, although I never know when I’m going to see him. He comes and goes and for better or worse I let him. 

“What is it, tell me, I know you want to,” I say, “You’re almost bursting with excitement.” 

“The Byrds are doing a twenty-year reunion, babe, and I’ll be playing with them. The Burrito Brothers are playing, too. We’ll be doing individual sets, then the Byrds will come out and we’ll be playing together. Richard might be joining us later.” 

I’m happy for him, I know that this will mean important income for him, no small dates at 500-seat clubs—a fate being shared by people like Gregg Allman who deserves better. I’d like to be able to go but I won’t ask. 

“And that’s not all,” he adds, trying to look mysterious, “At the end of July the Band will be opening for CSN.” He smiles, clearly pleased with himself. 

“So, you’ll be busy until...? 

“End of August, beginning of September. After that it will be back to doing solo gigs and dates with the Band.” 

“That’s great, I’m happy for you. When will you play the first date with the Byrds?” 

“February thirteenth, at the Lone Star in New York. I know you’re not fond of going into the city, but would you like to come? I’ll put you on my guest list. Call it an early Valentine’s Day present.” 

“Will Elizabeth be there?” I ask, I have no desire to end up in that situation. 

“No, she’s staying home. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe and besides, you know Roger and I think you know Chris.” 

“Okay, yes then, I’d love to. I like the clubs in New York, I just don’t like going into the city.” 

“It’s early now, but I’ll see what I can arrange when we play for CSN. Do you want to come backstage for either show?” 

“If Elizabeth won’t be there, yes.” 

He looks at me with something almost like pity. He’s being more cautious than he would have been in the old days. “Come to the second show, I’ll see if I can convince her to stay home.” 

I wonder how it feels for him to be the opening act—again. Initially, the reunion tour went well. They made a DVD called, ridiculously, “The Band is Back.” They kicked off the tour in Canada, then started doing shows in the U.S. They even played Japan. 

Things seemed to go well, at first, but they’ve started playing smaller venues but once in a while opportunities like this come along. I’m still angry at Robbie for breaking up the band. He told me the drugs had gotten out of control, but he’s always been very fond of coke. 

But there was a lot of in-fighting going on. Robbie’s got out and became a Hollywood “player”, which he’s wanted to do for a long time. I can’t make up my mind who’s using who, him or Scorsese. 

I thought Rick would leave after he delivered his news, but he didn’t. He led me to my bedroom and began to take off my clothes—and I let him. There’s no one else, not really, and I get lonely. He’s comfortable and familiar and makes me feel safe, and loved.

He puts his hands on my breasts, then takes one into his mouth, teasing my nipple with his tongue and it's driving me crazy. He slips one hand between my legs and begins to play with me, He looks at me, "Oh, so you like that?" I can see him smiling in the darkness.

"God, yes," I answer and move myself in rhythm with his fingers, "How long are you going to make me wait?"

This makes him laugh and spreads my legs apart and pushes himself into me. I wrap my legs around him, moving with him until he decides that he'll let me climax, making me moan with pleasure.

"I love it when you do that, it's sexy," he says in my ear and then collapses on the bed next to me. "When do you have to leave?" I ask and he answers, "Soon, I'm sorry. We can spend a night when I tour. I just can't seem to stay away from you." 

I’m happy he’s got these gigs, but there haven’t been many like them. He needs the money, both for living expenses and financing his heroin habit. He cleans up and stays straight for a while, then he’s back to the junk and I hate it. 

That’s the difference between Elizabeth and me. I would make him stay clean and ride his ass when he relapsed. I don’t know how much rehab costs but it must be cheaper than maintaining his habit. 

He knows how I feel about it and keeps it away from me. I’m sure he’s used when he’s around me, he’s just been discreet. I don’t say anything, I want to but I don’t, there’s no point. I hope someday he’ll be forced to clean up and stay that way. 

The tour with the Byrds officially opens February 13 at the Lone Star Café. I always thought that was a strange name for a club in New York. San Antonio, Houston, or maybe even Dallas would be a more fitting location, but I’ve never figured New York out and I don’t even try. 

Founding members Gene Clark, Roger McGuinn, and Chris Hillman are here. Gram Parsons was a founding member but died in 1973—another victim of drugs and alcohol. I’ve seen his picture, he was a beautiful man, beautiful but flawed. 

Rick sent me a backstage pass even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know why, he keeps me close even when he shouldn’t. 

The show was worth it, the Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers—Chris' band, and Rick. A night of country-flavored music tempered by a little rock and roll. I didn’t mind being alone, I flirted a little backstage but didn’t stay too long. I was getting invitations but I wasn’t interested. 

I went back to my hotel alone and had a couple of drinks at the bar, talking to out-of-town businessmen who would have loved to take me up to their room. Not my type but I let them buy me drinks. I’m shameless. 

I go to bed about one and sleep through the night. I wake up and get breakfast, then make the two-hour drive home. It feels good to get home, then go to work that afternoon. Work provides a sort of normalcy—but seeing Rick can upset that. 

I don’t expect to hear from Rick while he’s touring, but he calls occasionally. Often when we speak it’s obvious that he’s high on something. If he’s on coke he tends to talk rapidly, be over expansive when he’s telling me what’s going on. If it’s heroin, he speaks more slowly, sometimes sounding like he’s talking more to himself. When he’s like this I’m glad I’m not with him. 

On August 13 I’m backstage with him for the CSN show. You’re supposed to be second fiddle when you play in front of a band, but the Band gets a standing ovation and thunderous applause when they come on stage. I don’t care what people are saying about them, and there is a lot of talk about how it’s not “The Band” anymore. It is, it’s just without Robbie. Sure, they’ve changed their style of music, but they play a lot of the Band standards. They’re not the songwriters like Robbie is, but they play an eclectic selection of songs and the audience loves them. I love them too. 

The venue where they’re playing is great. It’s called “The Pier” and it’s on top of Pier 17, I love open-air venues and the view here is great. The lights from the city blots out most of the stars but everywhere you look, there is something to see. I’ve never been here before but I’m going to come back. 

They gather together on stage after CSN finishes their set and encores and play one last number, then exit the state for good. 

Rick’s feeling exuberant and holding his guitar in on hand, picks me up with the other and spins me around. Then follows the inevitable party and it’s dawn before we get to bed. 

We make love and then he crashes, but I can’t fall asleep. I don’t know if it’s the coke I had, I didn’t have much. I look at Rick sleeping and I feel like something is terribly wrong, 

Richard is drinking again. He seems to hold it together for shows but he’s gotten skeletally thin. He doesn’t seem to eat much, he’s living on Grand Marnier and cocaine. When I look at him I see a ghostly figure with dead eyes. I’ve heard Rick tell him, “You shouldn’t drink so much,” but that’s not going to help. 

I don’t like his wife, Arlie, because she’s fucked up most of the time. Doesn’t she even know that he’s living on borrowed time. If he keeps this up, he’s either going to die from cirrhosis of the liver, or he’ll kill himself in an alcoholic, drug-induced depression. 

I tell Rick that Richard needs to go back into detox but he only shakes his head. “It won’t happen, babe,” he tells me, “Richard needs to help himself.” But he can’t, I think.


	57. Happy Birthday Naughty Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bad day at work, which happens coincide with her birthday, Rick meets Dacy after she gets home and remembers her birthday

I keep my eye on Rick, watching to see how he acts, how he was taking Richard’s death. I worried that his drug and alcohol use would increase, but I was relieved that he didn’t show up at my apartment blind drunk again. I hated to send him home in that condition, but he had to return home to Elizabeth. I was terrified he was going to crash his car and hurt himself but somehow, he made it home.

It’s been almost two months since Richard died and tonight was my birthday but I hadn’t given it much thought, I’d been too busy at the hospital. There had been a carload of drunk teenagers that had crashed into a tree, and resulted in one death and a lot of bloodied victims who barely knew what happened. 

Bill had come in to check on a patient and had asked me to dinner. I wanted to say no because Rick was back, but he was clever enough to coax me into accepting. I knew I had no good reason to refuse, though he never mentioned it, Rick did not seem to object to my seeing someone although I’m not sure if sex was on the agenda, he would be so amenable. I told Bill “yes” hoping that dinner was all that he had in mind. If an uncomfortable situation came up, I’d deal with it.

I was trying to decide if I would just sleep on my sofa or if I’d go to bed when I heard the downstairs door open and close, followed by footsteps on the stairs, footsteps I knew well. I sat up and watched as Rick bounced into the room, smiling and carrying a package. 

“Happy birthday, naughty nurse,” he said then froze when he saw the blood on my uniform. He stood there, dumbstruck, I don’t think he’d ever seen so many bloodstains before. “Holy shit,” he swore, “What the hell happened, baby?”

“Bad accident, drunk teenage driving never turns out well. I’d like to forget this night happened, maybe I should go back to being a telephone operator.” 

He set the package down and came and sat next to me. He put his arms around me and held me, rocking me gently. “I’m sorry,” he said in his baby soft voice, “Was it very bad?” I nodded and he tightened his hold, “This shouldn’t happen on anyone’s birthday.” I can’t argue with that.   
“Here,” he said, “Open this, happy birthday.”

The days of the expensive presents are over, but he always gives me something nice. This time it’s a little cat statuette modeled like the statue of Bastet that the Smithsonian sells. This one is more whimsical; it’s painted and the cat has a flirtatious smile on her face.

“A little something for your witchy-woo,” his name for my altar. He doesn’t know how to take my witchcraft so he teases me, accusing me of casting a spell on him. “It wasn't no spell that got you,” is my standard answer and it’s true. I was the one who fell under his spell the moment I saw him. If I were smart, I’d cast a spell on him to make him go away and leave me alone for good. 

He’s looking at me, his face suddenly serious and I ask him what’s going on. He can’t hide much from me so he doesn’t try.

“We’re going back on the road; we have a show on the sixteenth in Connecticut to see how the new band works out.” 

I drew in a breath, then let it out and sank back against the sofa. “So soon?” I ask, knowing it’s too soon. They need the money and can’t afford to take any more time off even though they should. Rick has a farm, kids, and Elizabeth to support, not to mention a heroin habit. Levon has a wife and daughter, Garth and Maud need money to live on. Not touring is not a choice, but I think, no I know, it’s too soon. 

“Can’t you wait, Rick?” I try not to sound whiny, “I know you need the money, but it’s too soon.You lost someone closer than a brother. Richard didn’t just die, he committed suicide, this is anything but a normal death. I know you can’t grieve forever, but you need time to sort this out.” I stand up and put little Bast-et on my altar. “I could kill Richard for doing this, you know? Couldn’t he at least have waited until you had a break in the tour?”

“I’m sure it was just an accident...” he starts to say but I turn around to face him. 

“No Rick, it wasn’t, he didn’t accidentally tie his belt to the shower rod and put his neck in a loop and sit down. That wasn’t an accident at all. You guys, couldn’t you see how bad he had gotten? Why didn’t you insist that he get help? You could have toured without him for a short time, until he got the go ahead from his counselor to rejoin the band. He could have found AA and NA meetings to attend on the road. It would have been do-able and it might have saved him. You and your musician machismo...” 

I can’t go on because I’ve started to cry and he comes and puts his arm around me. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I know how much you cared about him. Poor little Dacy, you’re always trying to fix things that can’t be fixed. I know you wanted to fix Richard but he’s gone; we have to go on without him, we’ve got to make a living, he wouldn’t want us to stop.” 

“Maybe he was trying to stop you,” I don’t say it out loud but I’m thinking it. Suicide can be an act of anger. Richard was a nice guy but a very fucked up person. Alcoholics are into instant gratification, and things weren’t progressing fast enough for him. He couldn’t handle the ups and downs, he expected instant success—and money. He’d cleaned up but he relapsed and it seemed to me he’d gotten worse. And his new wife hadn’t helped things, what if he had gotten sober, would she have been willing to support him or would she have dragged him back down in the gutter with her? 

“Snap out of it, Dacy, you think too much.” He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom and removed my bloody uniform, “Don’t wash this uniform, get rid of it, you can afford a new one,” he drops it on the floor, “I’m going to arrange for you to come and spend a couple of days with us, you need to get away.” He removed his clothes and pulls me close to him, “Now isn’t this better?” 

It’s better, it’s so much better. The world and its problems fall away when he holds me. I forget about Richard, I forget about Elizabeth, I forget about Bill, there’s only Rick and his rough love making. I even forget that sometimes I wish he’d go away. 

When we finish, he looks at the clock and realizes that he’s stayed longer than he should. He ruffles my hair, “Why did let me stay so long?” he teases as if I had anything to do with it. He throws off the covers and gets up, stretching out his back and goes into the bathroom to take a shower. 

I watch him get dressed, trying to find the right words for what I’m going to say. “Rick?”   
“Yes?” he asks as he pulls on his jeans. 

“Be careful, I worry about you. The drugs, the alcohol, I’m afraid that one day your body won’t be able to handle it. I’m afraid you’ll be lucky if you see sixty and I can’t bear it.” 

He comes over to the bed and sits next to me. “Where did that come from, Dacy? I’m not Richard, I’m stronger than him.” 

“I know, I’m just cared of losing you. The way you live scares me and Richard’s death made it worse.” 

“Don’t worry about me, that’s not your job, it’s my job to worry about you. I’m afraid that something could happen to you, too, don’t you know that?”

Yes, I know that, but I don’t drink the way you do, and I don’t have your heroin habit. You think you can handle it but it’s handling you. You think that I don’t know that it’s as bad as it is but I do. 

You chose Elizabeth over me because she doesn’t challenge you and I do. She’s happy to sit back and be your housewife but I want something more. I’m proud that I earned my nursing degree and I’m doing something useful with my life. 

I don’t know why she puts up with the heroin, I wouldn’t and I wouldn’t follow you into it. I’m angry that she doesn’t try to do something about it.

It’s been almost ten years now and you still come around. You keep me close to you, so close that there’s barely room for anyone else. You stayed away for three years but you never stayed away, it may have taken Richard dying, but you came back and it’s like you never left. 

I don’t say any of this to him, I never will. I don’t know why he’s with me, cheap sex is easy to find so I know it’s not that. Something ties us to each other and he’s not going anywhere, not unless I send him away and I’m not strong enough for that.


	58. Not with a Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy and Rick have their first serious fight. He's accusing her of calling his house asking for him and leaving her name. She doesn't even know his number or where he lives and what he's saying hurts her deeply. She flees New York and goes to visit Bob Weir to take refuge their. He suggests she move back to California and stay with him until she gets settled. All seems to be going well until they are wakened one morning by a knock at the dooor

I suppose it was inevitable, but it came out of nowhere, neither of us suspected it, but the wound would last for a long time. 

I'd had a hard late night at the hospital. I worked swing shift and took overtime whenever I could because it meant more money. My hours suited Rick perfectly, and he'd show up about two or three in the morning, stay a few hours, and then go home. It was Malibu all over again, and in the past, I’d been happy with what we had, I wasn’t seeing much of him. He was on the road because he needed the money and he found it hard to fit in time for me. 

It had been a bad night at the hospital and when I finally got home, I was exhausted. I fell into a deep sleep and was wakened when I heard the door slam and angry footsteps coming up the stairs. My door flew open and Rick reached out and jerked me out of bed. He took hold of my arms and yelled, “Why did you do it, Dacy, why did you do it?” 

“What are you talking about—let go of me.” I tried to pull away from him, “What’s wrong with you?” 

“You called my house and asked for me, didn’t you? You even gave your name.” 

“What?” I want to slap him, “You know I wouldn’t do anything like that. I promised you a long time ago I’d stay out of your marriage.” 

He’s still angry at me, he doesn’t believe me, but why? If I ever needed to get in touch with him I have his manager’s number—he made sure of that after my last stint in the hospital. 

“Do you want to break me and Elizabeth up?” He’s not paying attention to anything I say. 

“I don’t know your number; I don’t even know where you live. I made a promise and I’ve kept it; you know I wouldn’t do that to you, don’t you, don’t you? And besides, you don’t want me to replace Elizabeth, she puts up with your shit but I wouldn’t. I don’t know why she puts up with the heroin-I'd make you clean up and stay clean. I can’t believe you’re saying this to me, how could you?” 

He looks at me, he doesn’t believe me and that cuts me to the core. I’ve loved this man for twelve years; I've accepted the fact that I will always come second but he's meant so much to me and in his own way has been good to me. Until now. 

“Does my word mean nothing to you? Why don’t you believe me? I uprooted my life to be with you. I’d never, ever do anything to hurt you. I love you, you bastard.” I’m pouring my heart out here but it doesn’t seem to be doing any good. 

He looks at me like he wants to kill me, or at least hit me. That angry look is cutting me to the core—I know he’s upset but why is he believing the lie? I’ve stayed out of his marriage for twelve years, I’ve stayed away from Elizabeth for twelve years, what makes him think anything has changed? 

I push him against his chest, “Get out of here, I don’t want to look at you. No matter how angry you are you must know I wouldn’t do this and if you don’t, fuck you. Just get away from me, you don’t know how badly you’ve hurt me.” 

For a moment he looks confused, then he turns around and goes out the door. Neither one of us wants to be the one to say it’s over, neither one of us is sure we want it to be, but neither of us is willing to say they're sorry—and I've done nothing to apologize for. 

I rummage around in my nightstand and find a couple of Valiums and take them, then lay down. I'm too upset to sleep, and my mind won't turn off the memory of the look on his face. It doesn't work right away but eventually, I calm down and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

I wake up around ten and start crying and can't stop. I'm hurting in a way I've never hurt before and there's no way I'm going to make it through work tonight. I call my manager and tell her I have the flu and I don't know when I'll be back to work. Nurses are hypochondriacs and the slightest sniffle becomes something more and I'm going to take advantage of it. 

After I hang up I call Weir. He's probably not awake yet, but sometimes ten is not too early to call. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of years but he’s always told me that if I needed him all I had to do was call. And I need him, I need him and I need to get away from here. 

After a few rings, he answers. "Hello?" his voice sounds a little groggy and I hope that he hasn't had a late night. I also hope that he's sleeping alone because this is going to be hard if he's with a woman. 

“Bob, hi, it’s Dacy, I’m sorry to wake you.” 

“No, it’s okay, what’s going on? It’s been a while.” His voice sounds a little more alert, and even glad to hear from me. 

“Can I come and stay with you for a few days? Please?” My voice is cracking a little but I can’t help it. 

“Well, I’m recording right now but—Dacy are you all right? Is it Rick?” 

“I’m not all right.” I didn’t answer the second question, I didn’t need to. “I have to get away from here. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, I just need to see you.” 

“Okay, get the first flight you can and let me know when you’ll be arriving. If he hurt you...” 

“He hurt me, but not physically, he wouldn’t do something like that. I’ll call you.” 

“Take care, I’ll see you tonight. I’m worried about you Dacy.” 

“Thank you, I’m sorry to...” 

“Don’t be sorry, I told you could call if you needed me and I meant it. Now get your ass on the plane and call me when you get to SF.” 

I hang up and pack my suitcase then go downstairs and ask Kat if she’ll look after my cats and get my mail. I give her a hundred-dollar bill and promise more. I give her Bob’s number if she needs to get in touch with me. 

I wanted to drive myself to the airport and park my car but Kat insists on driving me. I can’t get a flight until two, but I grab it. I’m flying first class and I have an open ticket—I don’t know how long I’m staying. 

I take more valium on the plane and have a scotch. I’m afraid to stay awake, I’m afraid I’ll cry during the flight and I don’t want to do that. I sleep about six hours then drink some coffee, I slept through dinner but I hate airline food anyway, even first class. 

I freshened up in the tiny bathroom before we land, and I’m as presentable as I can make myself. It’s seven o’clock Pacific time and I know that Bob is going to take me to dinner. All of this should make me feel good, or at least better, but it doesn’t. I put a smile on my reflection in the mirror and take a deep breath. 

When you fly first class you get to board first and disembark first. I walk through the chute that leads out of the plane into the waiting area and I see a familiar figure. 

He looks good, tall, slim, healthy, so different from Rick. Rick is handsome but the years of the drugs and alcohol will take a toll on him someday, but it doesn’t mean I don’t melt every time I see him. 

Bob lives clean. He's careful about what he eats, he exercises and it shows. His drug use at best is recreational. That's something we have in common and I know while I'm staying with him there will be trips to the gym, bike rides, and we’ll probably go hiking in Big Sur. 

He strides towards me on his long legs, grinning, and picks me up by the waist and spins me around, then kisses me. I like his way of saying hello. He steers me to the car and opens the door, then gets in behind the wheel. 

I’m kind of tired so I’m not talking much and finally he says, “Okay, do you talk about it now or after dinner.” 

I turn to him and give him a half-smile, "After dinner, please, I don't want to spoil our meal." 

He took me to China Town and we ordered a meal heavy on vegetables. I hadn’t eaten all day, let alone the crummy airline meal, so I was starving. We ordered Kung Pao happy family for the meat for me, vegetarian egg foo young, and a vegetable dish, along with plain rice. 

There was a look of sympathy on his face which I wanted to wipe off, but he’s an empathetic sort of person. I remember when he told me that I should leave Rick, that I’d have to make that choice at some point. He hadn’t thought my moving to New York a good idea and now I was wondering if he was right. 

We left the restaurant hand in hand and when we got to his car, he put the top down. “If you have a convertible, you might as well take advantage of it. It’s a nice night.” 

I covered my hair baseball cap and we began to take the long way to Marin County. He looked at me and asked, “Are you ready to tell me what’s wrong now?” So I did, word for word, 

He took his hand off the shift stick and put it briefly on my leg. "He must have been upset about what happened. I've never dealt with something like that but I can imagine how he must have felt, but at the same time you've been with him for twelve years and he should have known you wouldn't do something like that. Do you have any idea who would have done it?" 

I shrugged my shoulders. "Who knows who did it or how? The only time we're open is when he brings me on the road with him and he's surrounded by the people he's playing with and his friends. We try to keep in on the down-low but when he takes me on tour, we relax and let our guard down. What I can't figure out is how they got Rick's home number. Or why they'd do it." I look down at my hands, "I don't know where to go from here, I don't." 

“You need to leave New York,” he looks at me briefly before he turns his attention back to the road, “I know this hurts, but maybe it’s time to make a fresh start. You can stay with me if you want, until you get settled, look for a job, find a place to live.” 

Leaving New York is something I hadn’t thought of until now, but it makes a sort of sense. I’m not going to hook up with Bob, I don’t think that’s what he wants and I don’t want to lose my friend. I’ll hamper his social life, but after a while, things will be back to normal. 

I remember the “Marrying Maiden” hexagram and how I had doubts about moving to New York in the first place. Rick was pushing me and I was worn down after being mugged and it was easy to ignore the doubts I was having. And things had been good, at first. We’d had our ups and downs but I had felt loved. 

“So what do you think?” 

“I don’t think I want to go back to New York right now. I’ve never stopped being homesick for California but I moved for Rick and tried not to think about it.” 

“So, do you want to stay with me?” He looks at me with that handsome face and I know what I’m going to say even before it comes out of my mouth. 

“Can I, for a while? I know I have to go back eventually, but only to take care of business and put my house up for sale. I’m assuming I can find a job out here, hospitals always want nurses—I'm hoping I can make more money here.” 

“Why don’t you find a place in the Bay Area? You’d be closer that way.” 

“I hear the rents have increased a lot, and I’m not sure I can afford it. There will be a lot more hospitals in Los Angeles.” 

"Maybe you can afford the rent if you can get a manager's position. They have hospitals here, you know, and you could check out Stanford and get a place in San Jose. The Winchester Mystery House is there, I know how much you like it." 

“Can we talk about it later? I want to fly to Anaheim and go to Disneyland—you don’t have to go with me I’m perfectly happy going by myself.” 

“I guess I can take you to Disneyland,” he smiles, “I think Disneyland would be a good idea if I can take a few days off. Anything to put a smile back on your face.” 

I'm relaxed when we go to bed that night, and for the first time, I haven't thought about Rick. I feel safe with Bob. I miss Rick, but I'm angry and I'm not ready to go back. 

For a week I’m in a happy place. Bob’s in the studio a lot and sometimes I join him. He’s loaned me one of his cars and I’m learning my way around San Francisco. It’s not Los Angeles and there are no good places to surf and I miss it. I’m looking in the Chronicle to see about employment and rentals. I’m torn between LA and San Francisco but Bob tells me I don’t have to make up my mind yet. 

Everything is bliss and I am happy at last until someone starts pounding on his door at six in the morning. “I’ll get it,” Bob mumbles, and he goes down the stairs and opens the door and I hear a familiar voice and wonder how the hell he found me here. 

The line: “Not with a bang but with a whimper,” comes from the poem, “The Hollow Men” by T.S. Eliot.


	59. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy agrees to go back to Woodstock with Rick but warns him she's leaving

“Homeward bound, I wish I was, Homeward bound. 

Home, where my thought’s escaping, home where my music’s playing, 

Home, where my love lies waiting silently for me.” (Simon and Garfunkel) 

“Fuck off, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Bob’s raised his voice and that’s not a good sign—he's an even-tempered guy so he must be angry. 

I hear Rick answer, but I don’t catch the words. As much as I would like to avoid him, I don’t want things to get worse so I throw on Bob’s robe and walk down the hall to the landing. I tighten the belt of the robe around me, it goes around my waist twice. 

I look at them standing there and ask Rick, “What do you want? What are you doing here?” 

Rick looks up, “I’ve come to take you home, Dacy. Pack up your stuff and let’s go.” He holds out his hand, like he expects my immediate compliance but too bad, I’m not feeling compliant. 

I walk down a few steps, then sit down. I close the robe which is gaping at the top, giving them an inadvertent glimpse of my breasts. I look from one to the other before I speak. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rick?” I repeat, “How did you find out where I was?” 

“I called the hospital, you hadn’t been there in over a week, so I called your neighbor and she told me how to reach you in San Francisco.” 

I’m going to kill Kat, but I didn’t think to tell her to not let Rick know where I was. I had no idea he’d try to find me. I hadn’t expected to hear from him and now he’s looking at me like he’d like to rip Bob’s robe off. I don’t want him to look at me like that. 

“Dacy, you’ve got a job and a house you’ve got to get home to,” I think he’s trying to show he’s doing the logical thing. The hospital didn’t know what was going on since you hadn’t checked in. I’ve got some gigs coming up that I have to get ready for.” He looks at Bob and gives him a dirty look that says, “this is all your fault.” 

“Are you here to apologize for how you treated me? I'm still waiting to hear you say you’re sorry.” 

Bob is giving me an “atta girl” look. I don’t feel inclined to go with Rick, but he’s right about one thing—I need to get home and take care of my life. I’ve got to straighten things out at work and tell them I’m leaving. I’m going to find a real estate agent and put my house on the market. And I have to pack and ship things to the Bay Area. 

“I have to talk to Bob—alone,” I tell him. Bob comes up the stairs and helps me to my feet. We disappear into the bedroom and I sit on the bed and pat the covers. I need him to sit next to me. 

“I’ve got to return to New York.” Bob starts to say something but I put my fingers on his lips. “I need to take care of business, then I’m coming back. Can you find a storage locker for me before you leave?” 

He nods, “I’ll give you my spare key, we’ve got some shows and I might not be here when you return.” He puts his arm around my shoulders to reassure me, “Don’t let him bully you, make him say he’s sorry. Men aren’t good at that sort of thing, but you deserve an apology, so make sure you get it.” He hugs me, “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

I nod, “The only thing I can really do is leave with him, I have to tell him I’m moving back to California—and he’s not going to like it.” 

Rick looks at me as I walk into the living room. “I have to take a shower and pack, can you please come back in an hour?” He gives me a dirty look and I’m tempted to reciprocate but I don’t. “You show up here unannounced and expect me to go back with you when I thought we were through? This isn’t easy for me, I’m angry with you, you hurt me. Come back in an hour.” 

He gets up and looks at Bob, “Don’t touch her. Dacy, be ready to leave when I get back.” 

“Is that an hour Danko time?” I ask under my breath and I’m relieved when he doesn’t seem to hear me as he goes out the door. 

Bob picks me up and carries me up the stairs. We make love in the shower and I hope I’ve watched most of the evidence away. Rick will want to fuck; I can almost count on that. Whether or not I will say yes is another matter. 

Rick shows up an hour later, I’m surprised he’s on time but I think he wants to get me away from Bob. He doesn’t say much when I hug Bob and kiss him goodbye, “I’ll be back as soon as I get things straightened out. I hope I haven’t been fired from my job.” 

Rick takes my hand and pulls me out the door. He’s silent as he takes my suitcase and puts it in the trunk of his rental car. 

“Get in,” is all he says and the tone of his voice is not friendly but I am not intimidated. I’m not twenty-three and afraid of displeasing him. I climb in the car and fasten my seatbelt; I’m still debating as to whether I will wait for him to speak first or if I will be the first to open my mouth. 

We’re a way from the airport so I have time to give him a chance to speak but he’s still giving me the silent treatment. Fortunately, I know the cure for that—break the silence. 

“Why fetch me from Bob if you’re not even going to speak to me? I thought things were over between us, Elizabeth knows about me, now we don’t have that comfortable anonymity. I hardly see you anymore, you’re too busy touring. After all this time you must know I wouldn’t do that to you. You’ve hurt me.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, maybe to shut me up. That “I’m sorry” must have hurt to say. “I didn’t know what to think, and Elizabeth was ready to kill me.” I don’t blame her, I think. “I went to look for you and couldn’t find you. Finally, I asked Kat if she knew where you were and she told me you were in San Francisco. I felt bad, I wanted to tell you I knew you didn’t do it but...” 

“You should have known I wouldn’t do it. Twelve years, Rick, is a long time to get to know someone. Maybe we’ve been lucky that we haven’t had something like this happen before.” 

I’m quiet for a moment, but I have something I have to say, “It’s always been you who broke things off, maybe it’s my turn.” 

“What are you saying?” he turned to look at me, almost hitting a car coming the opposite direction. ` 

“I’m saying I’m thinking that it’s time for me to leave Woodstock. That whole area, is like one giant small town, eventually everyone knows what everyone else’s business. I don’t want to be a source for local gossip, and I bet people are talking. I don’t want people to stare at me when I go anywhere, so I’m leaving.” 

“I don’t want you to go, we can get past this.” He reaches out a hand and touches my cheek. I try not to jerk away. 

“How? I’m sorry but maybe this is a sign we need to cool things. We’ve had a good twelve years.” I sigh, not believing what I was saying, “You need to let me go. I can get a good price for my duplex, and there are a lot more job opportunities in California. I can make a new start and maybe better money.” 

“With Weir?” the tone of his bitter, but I didn’t blame him. 

“No, Bob and I are friends, we’re occasional lovers but we’re just friends.” 

“Yeah, I bet. Men and women can’t be friends.” 

“Says you. I’ve always had male friends. You’re just jealous. And besides, Bob isn’t he’s not ready to settle down. I’m going to stay with him until I find a job and a place of my own. I don’t know if it will be in San Francisco or if I’ll go back to Los Angeles.” 

He signals and leaves the fast lane where he likes to drive and pulls off the freeway and drives to a small restaurant. “You need to eat, the food’s good here if I remember.” 

Damn him, this is one of the things I love about him, he remembers the little things. I do need to eat, if I don’t, my blood sugar goes crazy, followed by me doing the same. He puts his arm across my shoulders as we wait to be seated in the little diner, things like this make it hard to let go. 

I eat breakfast, he watches me and drinks coffee like we’ve done so many times before. We get back in the car and he drives to a hotel near the airport. 

“We’re flying the red eye; I didn’t know how long it would take to find you. I’d like to say I’m sorry for waking you up so early, but I’m not.” He grins and I stick my tongue out at him. 

Bob and I were up late, it was early when Rick pounded on the door and I’m tired. He pulls the curtain shut and gestures towards the bed. I kick off my shoes and lay down and he lays next to me. He wraps one arm around me then with his free hand pulls my hair aside and plants his lips on my neck. 

“Don’t,” I tell him but he ignores me. I try to pull away but he’s got me pinned. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” 

I can’t do this—I've already had sex with Bob this morning. The last time I did this was—with the same two men in the same order. 

I’m angry with Rick; I love Rick. He’s taught me most of what I know about men and lovemaking. He’s the first man who showed me what an orgasm was. When he touches me, he makes me weak and damn him, he’s doing it again. 

He’s pulling off my clothes and I’m not resisting. It’s easier to give in than it is to resist. It feels good to be skin to skin with him and I’ve been here many times before. 

I must have been tired because I find myself dreaming without even being aware I fell asleep. I’m not in this hotel room, I’m lying in my bedroom and Robbie’s lying next to me telling me I shouldn’t move to New York. 

“He’s not good for you, Dacy, don’t do it. Don’t uproot your whole life for him.” He bends down to kiss me and I close my eyes, waiting. 

Then I open my eyes...I’m lying in this dark hotel room. I sit up, the dream had seemed so real. I’m lying next to Rick in this strange place. 

“What’s wrong?” Rick’s awake, I didn’t mean to wake him, “Are you all right?” 

“Yes, no, I just had a dream that was a little too strange. I didn’t know where I was when I woke up and it spooked me.” 

He looks at his watch, “Try and sleep a little more. We’ll go to dinner in a couple of hours, then drive to the airport.” He peers closely at me, “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

“No,” I want to say but I nod and tell him I’m okay. What I really want to do is cry, I’m overwhelmed. I’m angry that he came to San Fran to take me back, I’m angry that I’m going along with it. I can’t win.


	60. Silent Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacy flies back to New York with Rick. He seems ready to resume their relationship, but spending time with Bob Weir in San Francisco has changed her perspective. Rick has told her that she should not leave NY, but she felt freer in San Francisco, not worrying about the inevitable gossip that would be spreading around Woodstock.

We are quiet on the flight back to New York. Not because we have nothing to say to each other, but because what we have to say is for our ears only. We'll talk on the drive to Woodstock. 

We finish the drinks we ordered and Rick raises the armrests of our seats so he can hold me while we rest. Red-eyes are notoriously quiet and we're grateful for the peace it gives us. 

The stewardess comes and asks if we want another drink but Rick shakes his head. She lowers the lights and even though we're rested we go to sleep. 

It was about halfway through the flight that I wake up, slumped in Rick’s arms. My back is aching and I withdraw gently, trying not to wake him. There’s no stewardess in sight so I go back to where they’re chatting and ask if I can get a brandy. It’s no bother, I guess, they pour me a drink in the ridiculous little plastic cups and I return to my seat. 

"Did you bring me one?" Rick's sitting up and smiling. God, he loves to smile, he does coy well but I've known him for too long. 

"No, you were asleep, if you want a drink, you can get your own." I sit down and he reaches over to try to take mine so I pull away and say, "No." 

"I guess I'll have to," he says and gets up to go charm the stewardesses who will fuss over him and practically fight over who gets to give him his drink. He comes back, a drink in each hand, I guess each stewardess got the pleasure of serving. 

We sip our drinks; it gives us an excuse to not talk. Since it's a late-night flight there are no movies so are forced to depend on each other for entertainment. We're feeling friendly towards each other, perhaps our lovemaking broke the ice. 

I wish I had a book to help kill time for the rest of the flight. The stewardesses open the blinds and we are met with daylight and I realize we are getting close—at last—to New York. 

I lean over and rest my head on Rick's shoulder. I dread landing in New York, and what it will mean. I am going to say goodbye to our relationship, maybe forever. We'll see. 

When we land, we keep a respectful distance, after all, we are on his turf. He carries my suitcase as we make our way to the shuttle which will take us to where the car is parked. While we walk, I start rehearsing what I will say. 

He tips the driver when we reach the car. He puts my suitcase in the trunk then we get in and he starts the car. 

"You're quiet," he says and reaches over and puts his warm hand on my thigh, "What's wrong?" 

This is my cue and I don't want to speak but I have to. "I don't know what to say." Yes, I do, I've been rehearsing it for hours. "I'm dreading going back to Woodstock, I don't know if gossip has died down or if it's just getting started. That town is one big mouth. I can't live there anymore; I want to move back to California." I look at him, tears in my eyes that I wipe away. "I thought our luck might run out one day but I didn't expect this." 

"It'll die down. I'm as faithful to Elizabeth as I can be, but she knows life on the road. What she doesn't know about, she ignores. And we've been careful..." 

"What good did being careful do us? We still don't know who did this, or why. How do we know we aren't being watched? I can't handle this happening a second time. Besides, I'm feeling frustrated with living here. I can't go any further in my job even if I get my master's. There are a lot more opportunities in Los Angeles than there are for me here. I want to do something meaningful with my life." 

"You never talked like this before. Are you sure that you don't want to move in with Bob Weir?" 

"No, I love Bob but we work better as friends." 

"Funny friendship you've got there." 

"Don't get jealous on me. You've been involved with Elizabeth for as long as I've known you, you have no right to jealousy." I glare at him and he puts his hand, briefly, on mine. 

"But I am jealous, ever since I met you. I didn't want anyone else to have you, it's always been that way." 

I slump down in the seat, "Me, too. I've hated the fact that you're married but I'd rather have half a relationship with you than a real one with someone else. It's always been that way. I was yours from the day we saw each other at Shangri la." 

"Are you serious about leaving? Really?" 

"Yes, I'm going to put my duplex up for sale, pack up my stuff and send it to storage in San Francisco. I'll stay with Bob until I find a job and a place to live. I don't know if it will be in the Bay Area or if I'll go back to LA. I'd like to find a job at a hospital attached to a university, sometimes they'll help out with tuition, I can pay for it myself but help would be nice." 

"I don't want you to go." He looks at me and I can feel my heart breaking. 

"I don't want to leave but I have to. Maybe I'll come back in a few years, but I miss California. I miss surfing in the morning before I go to work. I miss being around my mom's family. I miss speaking Spanish, being surrounded by the culture. I want to go to festivals and Quinceaneras. I don't have any of that here. Woodstock is nothing but a bunch of white people." 

"Don't do anything rash, Dacy, okay? Give the dust a chance to settle and it might not be that bad. I've got to go back on the road soon, things will die down, you'll see." 

He wants to keep both of us, after all, hasn't it been that way for the past twelve years? I don't know whether to be touched or think he's being selfish. 

He's hard to resist. He insinuated his way into my life and then stayed there. I was young, I was flattered by this handsome man who seemed to want me. I never expected him to stick around but he did and became such an important part of my life that I never even considered leaving him. Now I am. 

I can tell that he's trying to wear me down and in the past, it might have worked. All those little surreptitious visits in the middle of the night making sure he still had me, that I still wanted them. We were apart but never really apart. He has no intention of letting go so I must. 

"I can't do this, not now anyway. I need to retreat, get away from here so I can decide what I want to do. If I leave the gossip will die down that much sooner. And I miss California, I hate the winters here. If I want snow I can go to Big Bear. I miss so many things about my old life, sometimes I don't even recognize the person I've become. Let me go to California with your blessing." 

When we get to my house, he gets my suitcase and carried it upstairs, then stands there, looking at me. 

"Don't you have to get home?" I ask. 

"Elizabeth doesn't expect me until tonight. Did you think I was going to let you get away that quickly?" 

Our relationship started with a deception; it's been one long lie. The only truth is that we love each other, but at what cost? When I was young, I didn't care that we were deceiving Elizabeth, I was in love, and in my eyes that made it right. 

But that was before we were busted and I'm torn. I want to stay with him, I've loved him for more than twelve years but now that we've been found out things have changed, sort of. I've never felt guilty, or very guilty, before. 

I let him take me in his arms, I let him make love to me but I come to an important decision. I've got to get the hell out of Dodge or things will never change. I'll stay with Bob until I find a job and a place to live. I want to go back to LA; I'll find a job at a university hospital where I can get my master's and afford a nice place to live not far from the beach. I want to get up in the morning and surf, ride my bike year-round, and run five miles on the beach every morning. 

It's with regret that I watch him leave. If Elizabeth hadn't found out about me I might be staying, now I don't know when I'll come back. I know how much I'll miss him and I wish I didn't. 

But a part of me wants my old life back. Except for the musical community, I don't fit in here, I'm too different, too dark. California felt like home and maybe it's time to go back. 

Kat is sitting at her kitchen table and the first thing she does is pour me a cup of coffee. "Well, what's going on?" she asks, "You left here all of a sudden and now you're back. Did it have anything to do with Rick?" 

"Can I not tell you the whole story right now?" She nodded, understanding. "I'm going back to California." Now she looks surprised, her eyes wide and her mouth forming an "o". 

"Is it that bad?" Now it's my turn to nod, "Well, can't it be made better?" 

I sigh, "Not for a while. I hate to do this to you, but I'm putting the duplex on the market, I need the money and I'm either going to buy something in Cali or find an apartment. I need to get away from here, you don't know how bad it is, Kat." 

"Well, here's something that might make it easier. Mac and I love this place and we'd like to buy it. We would have said something earlier but we know how much you love this place. If you like, we can get a real estate agent and figure out a price both of us can live with. Would that make things a little easier?" 

I put my arms around her, hugging her as tight as I can while I try to hold back the tears. Then I shake my finger, "As long as it's a price I can live with. I have to pay this off and I want to have some money to help finance my move." 

"Well, let me keep your cats and we'll probably have a deal. Willie has been sleeping with us at night and my cat-hating husband is proving to be a softie. Do what you need to do on your end and we'll try to take care of ours, I hear it's best for buyer and seller to have separate agents. Mac and I came into some money and this would be the perfect investment. Mac's been speculating on how much it would cost to turn this into a house again. We're talking kids, you know." 

I wanted to cry, but I smiled to show her I was happy for her. I know they love this place as much as I do. Mac's been helpful when it comes to little repair jobs and Kat and I have been thinking about what wallpaper and paint would best suit the character of the house. I don't think I could have found more perfect buyers. 

It's going to be a wrench to let the cats go, but they'll have a good home and won't even have to leave. Kat has promised to help me pack, all I have to do is wait until Bob finds a storage unit for me. 

I take valium tonight to help me sleep—the blue not the yellow. What am I doing, I wonder, and then I remember that Elizabeth's shadow has fallen over Rick and me. It's going to be a while before we can resume our old relationship without the burden of extra caution. In time things may calm down, but I need to get away and for now, California is the place I want to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm willing to take suggestions and if someone wants to do some co-writing--because we all have ideas, right--let me know. Oh, I know no one cares, but this is the longest story I've ever written and it's still not done!!!


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